


Friends and Strangers

by enigmaticblue



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 58,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1711283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first BtVS fic, written before S7 aired. Spike returns to Sunnydale a changed man, but not everybody can see it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends and Strangers

# September 1

 

Limbs whirling, body swerving, barely pausing in the deadly dance. Contact made and broken in swift seconds that made all the difference between life and death. The harsh planes of his face contracted with devilish joy, his lips pulled back in a rictus of grim laughter. He felt alive only in the midst of death now, the blood lust pumping through him, the rhythm of the dance pounding in his head. He was a god in a good fight. He was the lord of the dance.

           

When it was over, and his enemies lay in puffs at his feet, he was covered in dust and ashes. And in dust and ashes he cried his lament to the skies, for all the things he’d done, and all the things he hadn’t. For dying, and for not dying. And for the pain that threatened to rip him from the inside out. He called his pain to the skies like a dying animal until darkness descended and took him.

# September 14

When he woke, it was to the pain of hunger. Groaning, he picked himself off the floor of the crypt and stumbled to the fridge. He had no idea if there was even anything in there worth eating, and one look told him that he’d been unconscious since the fight. He’d come home to find that Clem had vacated the place in favor of a very nasty gang of vampires. Spike had been longing for a good fight, thinking it would clear his head, but instead it had triggered one of the flashbacks that took over mind and body. If he had to guess, he’d say he’d lost at least a week, and possibly two. Hunger left him weakened, and in no state to meet and greet anyone who might come calling.

           

He needed to find food. He checked his cash supply and found it seriously wanting. His place was trashed and needed major repairs and redecorating, but a quick hunt found the former occupants’ stash of valuables. You could get just about anything in Sunnydale, provided you had the cash. He had a deal with the slaughterhouse for cheap blood from before, so it would be easy to renew the agreement. It was just a matter of getting over there before he collapsed completely.

           

The voices, the thoughts, they haunted him, day and night. He knew he was holding on to his sanity by his fingertips. If it wasn’t flashbacks by night, it was nightmares by day, and they wouldn’t let him go until he’d relived every sordid detail, leaving him chilled to his bones. He was concentrating on not being crazy with all his might when he was stopped in his tracks by a very hard fist in the nose. At first, he wasn’t quite certain if it was merely another memory or if it was real, but the ground was hard beneath his back, and the blood trickling out one nostril was real enough, and the green eyes staring down at him were definitely pissed off.

           

“Spike.”

           

It took him a second to gather his scattered wits. “Slayer. How nice to see you again.”

           

“What are you doing here?” Buffy demanded.

           

Spike sat up cautiously. He wasn’t entirely sure that she wasn’t going to use the stake she was white knuckling, and he had a feeling any sudden moves on his part and he’d be dust. “I was on my way to get dinner.” He swiped his nose with the back of one hand, seeing the bright red streak and resisting the urge to taste. He had nothing left, no resources at all. If she wanted to take a swipe at him, he’d let her do it, and welcome the oblivion.

           

“I mean, why did you come back,” she replied. Buffy wasn’t entirely sure what she was going to do with him. He looked like he was in pretty bad shape, as though he was ready to collapse at any moment. In spite of herself, she felt a stab of pity, and when she searched her heart for enough hatred to stake him, all she found was a kind of emptiness and a deep sense of loss. She wasn’t even sure what it was she’d lost.

           

Spike looked a bit surprised at the question. He wasn’t sure why he’d come back, except that he was drawn here, by her, by the Hellmouth, by the sense that Sunnyhell was the closest thing to a home he had. It was the last reason that was probably the most acceptable answer, and so it was the one he gave. “This is home, Buffy.”

           

“Home?” she asked incredulously. “Please, Spike. You could be at home in a back alley.”

           

He shrugged slightly, picking himself off the ground and dusting off his black jeans. Spike was careful to keep his distance. “Maybe, but you might need me.”

           

Buffy’s face hardened, even as she rammed Mr. Pointy back into the pocket of her blue windbreaker. “I don’t need you, Spike. I don’t need you and I don’t need your help.”

           

He wasn’t surprised, but it still felt as though someone had knocked the wind out of him. If he’d had any wind. A small part of him knew that if he told Buffy he had his soul back, she might feel differently. She might even feel safer around him; maybe even stop looking at him like he was going to jump her at any second, but something kept his lips sealed. “Alright,” he said quietly. He started to go, but stopped. “I know it doesn’t make a difference, but I’m sorry for what happened, for what I did.”

           

“You’re right, Spike. It doesn’t make a difference.” Buffy pushed past him. “I don’t want to see you, and I don’t want you near my friends,” she called back. Spike looked after her, glad for the moment that he didn’t need to breathe. He wouldn’t have been able to after that. His jaw tightened and tensed, and he clamped down on the emotion. He deserved nothing less from her.

# September 17

 

The crypt was finally back to its pre-hiatus state. It had taken some work to get it there, but the man in him had wanted it clean, wanted it right. Some small part of him housed the idea that perhaps Buffy would just stop by some night, and it would be like it was. If she did he wanted to impress her. A bigger part of him acknowledged that it was a futile wish, and that her presence made it that much more difficult to hang on to what was left of his sanity. The dreams had been particularly bad the last three days. Reliving every moment of that scene in her bathroom, everything he’d ever done to her, or tried to do. Even now he was attempting desperately not to give into the madness that threatened. Angel had never made it seem this hard. Spike hadn’t figured getting his soul back would hurt this much, but then again, he hadn’t really thought he’d had anything to be sorry for besides that little scene with Buffy. It was all a matter of perspective.

           

Spike finished setting his TV up and turned it on, seeing with some satisfaction that it was still working. He froze as he heard the sound of a girl screaming. His feet were moving before it even registered that that’s what he had heard. The sound tore through the night air again and he shifted direction toward the source. It was nearby, and it wasn’t long before he saw what had caused it.

           

Spike took in the scene at one glance. Young curly-haired woman pressed up against a large white tombstone, pale face even paler in the moonlight. Three vampires holding her tightly, waiting for their turn to feed. One misplaced stake outlined dimly on green grass, not yet wet with dew. One small trace of dust already drifting away on the slight breeze. He didn’t even pause as he ran onto the scene, grabbing the biggest vampire by the collar of his shirt. “Why don’t you try biting someone your own size?” he suggested, snarling. With answering growls, the other vampires were on top of him in seconds.

           

A feeling of exultation fueled him. He had nothing but his bare hands and a mad desire to save the girl, and somehow it was enough. Spike had managed to knock two of them unconscious, and was struggling with the third when he turned to dust in his fingers. The girl stood there staring at him with a sort of horror. “What?” he asked.

           

She opened her mouth to say something, and then her eyes widened. “Behind you,” she warned, tossing the stake to him. Spike caught it easily and in two easy movements the last of the vampires were dust on the ground. He turned to the girl again. “What is it?” he asked.

           

She hesitated, and then pointed to her own face. “Your face. It just wasn’t what I expected.”

           

Spike had forgotten he’d put his game face on. He shifted back into a human appearance. “Better?”

           

She shrugged. “I just didn’t think vampires killed other vampires.”

           

“Welcome to the freak show,” he replied. He looked down and saw a dark red stain spreading across the leg of her jeans. “You all right?”

           

She looked down, startled. “I didn’t realize how bad it was,” she admitted.

           

“Adrenalin will do that for you. You’d better let me take a look at that,” he said. “My place is close.”     

           

“I’ve made it a habit not to go home with strange vampires,” she said, with some humor.

           

Spike looked at her in surprise and smiled slowly. “My name’s Spike.”

           

“Rachel,” she said. “Thanks for saving my life.”

           

“Don’t mention it,” Spike replied, and meant it. “Come on, let’s get that leg cleaned up.”

           

He was half supporting her, half carrying her as they walked back to his crypt. “So, what brings you out this late at night? It’s not safe, you know.”

           

Rachel glanced up at him, trying to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. “I was tutoring.”

           

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” Spike asked with a smirk.

           

Her blue-gray eyes darted upward again. She paused for a second in surprise as she realized what he was insinuating. “No,” she replied, “that’s what I was doing. I tutor jocks in calculus and English and pretty much whatever else they’re having trouble with.”

           

“Well, that’s interesting,” Spike murmured. “And none of those jocks could be bothered to walk you home?”

           

“None of them would be caught dead with me. I’m the homework queen, not their date. Besides, I’m fine on my own.”

           

The tone of her voice amused him, especially considering the fact that he’d just saved her from three hungry vampires. “Right, duchess,” he replied. “You’re obviously fine.” She opened her mouth to retort when he picked her up. “Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he said before she could protest. “This is faster and easier.” He carried her the last few feet to the crypt and down the stairs, depositing her on his chair. “Sit tight,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”

           

He went and got the bandages he had on hand, as well as his bottle of Jack. Rachel was still in his chair with a bemused look on her face when he got back. “Drink?” he asked.

           

She was about to refuse, but changed her mind. “Yeah, thanks.”

           

He poured her a shot and knelt at her feet, carefully rolling up the leg on her jeans. “This is pretty ugly,” he said. “You might need to see a doctor for this one.”

           

Rachel shook her head. “It’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

           

“Really? You go after vampires often?” He sponged away the blood with a bit of gauze and put a clean pad over the wound, using his roll of bandage to hold it in place.

           

“No, but I’ve cut myself pretty bad before. I heal fast.” She winced a little as he pulled the wrap tight. “Thank you,” she said as he finished up. She reached out and touched his hand gently. “I mean it.”

           

Spike’s face changed and his eyes softened. “You’re welcome.” He stood up and held out a hand to her. “I can walk you home, and then you’d better get some rest.”

           

Rachel stood up quickly. “No, that’s okay,” she said, backing away. “I’m fine to walk home by myself.”

           

Spike frowned, frustrated. “I’m not going to bite you,” he said, “and I’m not going to stalk you.”

           

Rachel seemed surprised that he’d even suggest it. “I know,” she said, “but you’ve done so much already. Really, I’ll be fine.”

           

Spike raised his voice just slightly. “I’m not letting you walk home by yourself,” he insisted. “You’re hurt, and I don’t want to run across you again on the wrong side of a stake.”

           

“Haven’t you ever heard what they said about lightening not striking twice?” she asked, trying to laugh off his concern. “You don’t need to walk me.”

           

Spike was about ready to shake her. She didn’t seem to realize what a close call she’d had, and he could see her trembling with exhaustion and the after effects of the adrenalin rush. “You bloody well aren’t walking home alone and that’s all there is to it,” he said, grabbing his jacket from where he’d left it on the tomb. “Come on then.” When he looked back at her he noticed her lips were trembling and he paused. “Rachel?”

           

“You can’t walk me home,” she all but whispered. “I don’t have anywhere for you to walk me to.”

           

Spike stopped and frowned. “Then where the hell were you going tonight?” he asked.

           

Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. I was just walking, hoping I’d find someplace.”

           

Spike’s jaw tightened. “Sit down,” he ordered gently. “You want to tell me about it?”

           

She looked away from him, not meeting his eyes. “My dad had a new girlfriend move in, and when she found out—when she found out we weren’t going to get along she told him he had a choice. Her or me.”

           

“Let me guess,” Spike said quietly. “He picked her.”

           

Rachel shrugged. “He said I could stay in this rental place he owns and I wouldn’t have to pay rent while I’m in school, but I can’t move in until next month. I told him I’d find a friend to stay with, and that’s what I’ve been doing for the last couple weeks, but no one really has the room for another roommate, and I can’t go back and tell my dad.”

           

“Why not?” Spike asked. “The bugger should have seen you taken care of.”

           

“Maybe. He is taking care of things, but the occupants’ lease for the house isn’t up for another six weeks, so there really isn’t anything he can do.” Rachel leaned back in the chair. “I thought maybe I could find a place to stay for tonight, and then I’d have to figure something else out tomorrow. I didn’t know what else to do.”

           

Spike was thinking that whatever friends she had weren’t worth much, letting her sleep out on the street like that, especially in a town like Sunnydale. You never knew what was haunting the dark corners. He looked at her. She was a normal enough looking girl; pale, curly red hair, freckles, blue-ish eyes, nothing spectacular really. There was no way he was going to let her out on the street on her own like this. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?” he suggested, the words coming out of his mouth before he could think about how they might sound.

           

She looked at him in surprise. “I don’t want to impose,” she protested.

           

“Who’s imposing? I don’t sleep at night, so I’m not using the bed,” Spike pointed out. “And I cleaned today, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

           

“I’m not worried about that,” she assured him. “But I don’t want to invade your space. You’ve done enough for me already.”

           

Spike shrugged. “Saving your life wouldn’t have done much good if you just go out and get yourself killed now, would it?”

           

Rachel smiled tiredly. “I guess not.” She paused, “Wait, I left my backpack and my duffel out there. That’s all my stuff. I need to—”

           

“You aren’t going anywhere,” he said, pushing her back into the chair. “I’ll get them. Where are they?”

           

“By the west entrance. The pack’s blue and the duffel is black.”

           

Spike shrugged into his jacket. “Fine. I’ll be right back.”

           

Neither the pack nor the duffel were hard to find, since they were right where she’d said they’d be. He shouldered both and headed back to the crypt, wondering if he was getting himself into something he’d rather not. Still, some part of him refused to see her put in more danger, and he didn’t know of anyone he could realistically send her to. Perhaps he might have been able to send her to Buffy’s house at one point. Even now, she might help out, but then again she might slam the door as soon as she heard his name. It was hard to tell.

           

“Found ‘em,” he called as he came in. “Doesn’t look like anyone messed with them either.” His voice trailed off toward the end as he realized she’d gone to sleep. “Must have been exhausted,” Spike muttered. “Poor kid.” He hesitated only a moment before taking her bags to the lower level and setting them beside the bed. Then he went back and picked her up. She didn’t even stir as he carried her over his shoulder to the bed, pulled off her shoes and tucked her in. Spike stood there for a moment. He’d never really been able to watch Buffy sleep, he remembered. She rarely stayed the night with him, and she hardly would sleep in his presence. He reached out to touch her face, and then drew his hand back. She wasn’t Buffy, and Buffy wasn’t his, and there were very good reasons for that. Very good reasons indeed.

 

# September 18

 

When Rachel woke the next morning, she couldn’t remember where she was or how she’d gotten there. The first wasn’t so surprising, since she’d been sleeping in a different bed every night for almost two weeks, but the second worried her. She lay there for a moment, recalling the events of the previous night. There had been the idiot who still couldn’t get fractions and would most likely flunk out of math unless he got a brain transplant, then there had been the whole aimless walk, trying to figure out where she was going to spend the night, and finally being chased by four very hungry vampires. Spike. That was the missing link. The blond vampire had literally come out of nowhere to not only save her life, but also offer her a place to sleep and tuck her into bed. Apparently it was the soul that made all the difference in the world. Rachel wondered if Spike was unique among vampires or if this was a common thing nobody knew about. If she had to guess, she’d say the first.

           

She rose, made the bed, and pulled on her Nikes. Her watch told her she’d missed her morning classes already, so there really wasn’t any hurry. Rachel shouldered her pack and climbed the ladder to the upper level of the crypt, looking around for Spike. It hit her like a wave when she walked into the living area. Her eyes darted around the room, finally finding him huddled in a corner. The emotions coming off of him were like nothing she’d ever experienced. She’d seen a few people who were deeply depressed enough to register strongly on her radar, but nothing like this.

           

Spike sat with his knees up to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, speaking in a low voice, low enough that Rachel couldn’t catch any of what he was saying. She had a feeling that whatever was keeping him inside his head wasn’t pleasant. She moved closer cautiously, holding out her hand to him, inches away from his face. He didn’t stir, and she called to him quietly. “Spike?”

 

His blue eyes didn’t even blink, and Rachel realized that she was faced with two options. She could leave him; he would most likely snap out of it at some point in the near future. She wouldn’t get sucked into a place she didn’t want to go, and possibly wouldn’t be able to get out of. Or, she could help him. There were really no benefits to that option, since there was a good possibility that she could lose herself in Spike’s emotional onslaught. He had helped her, though. He’d done more for her in one evening than her father had ever done, or any of her friends. Whatever he was, whatever he had done, he had been good to her. She owed him her life, and then some. In the end, benefits weren’t a consideration.

           

Rachel took a deep breath and put her hand to the side of his face. The emotions swamped her: anger, rage, a horrifying destructiveness, and underlying it all, a powerlessness and deep regret, so deep that there wasn’t a word to describe it. With the last of her will, she forced the emotions to one side, and plunged into darkness.

 

~~~~~ 

 

Spike came out of the flashback abruptly. He put one trembling hand up to his face. He wasn’t sure what had just happened; it was as if someone had cut off the stream of memory at its source. The flashbacks had never ended in the middle before. They had always pulled him along until he’d relived every last gory detail. Sometimes they’d come one after another, leaving him weakened in both body and mind, and every time his sanity seemed to grow that much more tenuous. He pulled his hand away, and as he did so, he caught sight of Rachel lying beside him, her face pale and drawn. If his heart had been beating, it would have stopped in that instant. It was his worst fear, to wake up from one of his little sabbaticals into the past and find a present work of art. To discover that he had, unknowingly, added to his crimes against humanity.

           

Hesitantly, Spike reached out and turned her over to face him, and he wasn’t sure whether he was more relieved to find her still breathing or that there were no marks on her neck. Apparently, he hadn’t touched her, but he couldn’t seem to figure out what had. He picked himself off the ground slowly, and then picked her up as well, propping her up in his chair. He sat back down on the ground, thinking, waiting for her to awaken and enlighten him.

           

What Spike hadn’t expected was that she would look quite so guilty when she finally came to about fifteen minutes later. “Spike.”

           

“You want to tell me what happened, luv?” he asked quietly.

           

She pushed herself out of the chair with an almost violent motion. “Look, I didn’t mean to, I just saw you and I wanted to help—”

           

Spike pushed himself up off the floor. “And I’m sure you helped,” he began reassuringly, “but I’d really like to know what it was you did.”

           

She shook her head, and before he quite realized what she was doing, she’d picked up her backpack and was halfway out the door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look,” she said, and was gone.

           

Spike ran one hand over his hair, frustrated. “You bloody idiot, you had to go and scare her off,” he muttered to himself. So she had seen something, and she’d tried to help, but try as he might he couldn’t put the two together. He snarled. “Bloody git, she probably took one look at the state of things and got scared. Ran off. Any nice girl would, dammit.”

 

He went to the fridge and pulled out the pint he’d stashed the other day. He drank, still smarting over Rachel’s abrupt departure. It felt unnatural to have someone scared of him, though he knew it was the soul in him talking. Before, he might have relished it, but now he’d give his right arm just to have a cordial conversation with someone who wasn’t looking at him as though he’d grown a second head or like he was going to pounce on them at any second.

           

He stopped as he climbed downstairs to the bed, noticing first that it was made and second that she had left her duffel bag. In any form, he had never been stupid. William had been intelligent, but Spike was cunning. His blue eyes gleamed. He had always been a great one for plans (even if he rarely carried them out), and he wanted to know exactly what it was she had seen. He really wanted to find out what had literally tossed him out of that nightmare of a memory. First thing was to find her again, then he’d have to reassure her he wasn’t dangerous. He had a feeling that the second would be more difficult than the first, but he was willing to try.

 

~~~~~

 

Spike waited near the west entrance of the Sunnydale cemetery, where he’d found Rachel’s bags the night before. He figured if she’d come this way once, he had a good chance at catching her here. Besides, he’d lay good odds on her coming back for the duffel. If he read the signs right, she’d try it the sneaky way.   

           

Patience was a virtue, he’d always heard, and this time it was rewarded by an appearance by the girl herself. She was still limping a bit and was looking about her nervously, probably a leftover reaction from the night before. She’d just passed by his hiding spot when he stepped out from behind a large bush. “Looking for this?” he asked, holding up the duffel.

           

She just about jumped out of her skin, and whirled to face him. Spike was a bit surprised to see her actually relax when she recognized him. “You scared me,” she accused. Then she reached for the bag, “Thanks, Spike.”

           

The bag moved just out of her reach. “First you tell me exactly what happened this morning,” he insisted.

           

Fear darted across her face. “I told you I was sorry,” she protested. “Just give me my bag. I promise I won’t bother you again.”

           

Spike continued to hang onto the bag. “That would be just fine, luv, if I knew what the bloody hell you were sorry for. You owe me that much. So, why don’t you explain what happened, and then we can both be on our merry way.”

           

Emotions warred on her face, and she hesitated. “All right,” she agreed. “But do you mind if we walk? I don’t—it’s better if I can move around when I talk.”

           

He shrugged. “Sure. If you don’t mind dropping your stuff at my place.”

           

“Fine.” They walked in silence back to his crypt, and Rachel waited as he stashed her bags inside. She glanced at him as he came out, unsure of the reaction she would get once she gave her explanation, but he was right. She did owe him at least some kind of reason for what had happened.

           

They started walking, almost aimlessly, Spike’s hands shoved into the pockets of his black jacket, her hands in the pockets her faded jeans. The two of them looked like two friends out for a walk, but Rachel had no such delusions. “I didn’t tell you last night that my mom left when I was little.”

           

“I picked up on that,” Spike said.

           

“Yeah, well, I also didn’t tell you that she wasn’t human. She’s a higher plane being, so I have certain…characteristics that are not exactly human.”

           

Spike looked over at her sharply, his eyes gleaming in the light of the full moon. “So you’re saying you somehow read my mind?”

           

“No.” Rachel shook her head emphatically. “I don’t read minds. Starting when I was little, I could tell what people were like, what they were likely to do. Some people are pretty good judges of character. Well, I’m never wrong. First impressions are 100% accurate for me. That’s how I knew you were okay last night.”

           

Spike was silent, waiting for her to continue. “As I got older, I could read emotions, never thoughts, but I could tell what people were feeling, and in the last couple years I found out I could change things. Block certain emotions so people would feel happier, or less depressed, or less angry. Whatever.”

           

The light began to dawn for Spike. “That’s what you did this morning for me. How much of that did you see?” He seemed almost panicky, and Rachel hastened to reassure him.

           

“I don’t see things, I just feel them. I knew what was going on, if that’s what you mean, but it’s not like I actually saw the events or anything like that. I knew what you were feeling when those events took place, and underneath I could tell what you were feeling right then. That’s all.”

           

“That’s a bit more than enough,” Spike muttered. He wasn’t sure how comfortable he was, knowing that someone could know him like that. Both that she would know what he had been, and know what he was now. He wasn’t particularly proud of either.

           

“That’s why I ran out,” her voice was quiet. “No one likes to have their privacy invaded, and that’s usually what people feel like. No one wanted me to stay with them for more than a couple days because I can’t help picking up, at least a little, what they’re feeling. And I’ll say something, and they start feeling like I can read their minds, and then they make definite hints about me leaving.”

           

Spike looked over at her. “Do you know what I’m feeling now?”

           

“It depends on if you want me to try. I usually have to be in direct contact, and I have to try. Most of the time, I’m pretty good at blocking things out.”

           

He stopped in his tracks and looked down at her. She was a few inches shorter than he, but she seemed very small at that moment. “So, tell me what you know.” It was a challenge, but it was also a plea. _He_ wasn’t even sure what he was feeling.

           

Rachel swallowed. She wasn’t sure it was such a good idea, but she’d do it, because he asked, and because once she did it would be over.

 

“You were a good man,” she began. “But you never felt like you were good enough. Someone came along and offered you a taste of power. It was like offering a kid a sugar rush and then sticking their finger in a light socket. You got more than you bargained for, but it felt good. You felt important, powerful, for the first time. So you enjoyed yourself, but you were never so far from your roots that it didn’t affect everything you did and everything you wanted. When you were rejected, you felt that pain, and it tapped into your humanity again. The dark side of your humanity. When you loved, you remembered that part of yourself that had never completely gone. And when you were rejected, you decided you’d change everything you were in order to retrieve the love you thought you’d never find. You want nothing more than to be accepted, to be needed, but everything you try to do isn’t good enough. Now, you feel trapped. By memories that won’t leave you alone, by a past that you can’t overcome, by your own desire to be human and loved. You want the moon, and you’re settling for the candle. You want peace, and you know it will never be yours. You don’t even know what you want anymore, and you’re powerless to find out. You still have a good soul, but it’s stained with blood and death. You want atonement, but you don’t know how to get it. You love, but you don’t know who to give it to. That’s all I see.”

           

Spike wasn’t sure what he felt as he looked at her. He wasn’t angry. It was more a sense of relief, of being known. No one had ever said those kinds of things to him; no one, not even Buffy, had truly known who and what he was. And yet, it still seemed as though she painted too bright a picture. “I think you’re giving me more credit than I deserve, duchess.”

           

She smiled sadly. “I can only see what I see, Spike. Perhaps it’s you who don’t see clearly enough.” She let go of his hand, which she’d been holding through the entire thing.

           

“What are you going to do tonight?” he asked quietly.

           

She looked a bit startled at the change in subject, but replied, “I think I’m going to go to my Dad’s. Ask him if he’d lend me the money to stay in a hotel until I can move into the other place.”

           

“This other place, how long before you can move in?” Spike asked.

           

Rachel was looking more and more confused. She’d expected him to tell her that was the end of things. See you later, here are your bags, have a nice life. Cautiously, she said, “Dad has this rental property not too far from here. He’s letting me move in there, but the current tenants’ lease isn’t up till the end of October. Why?”

           

Spike shrugged. “I still think you’re a bit biased, seeing how I saved your life and all, but if you need a place to stay, you can use my place.” She opened her mouth to reply, and Spike held up one hand. “Look, I know it’s not ideal, but it means you don’t have to crawling back to dear old Dad. And in case you’re wondering, next time you find me on the floor, you can leave me there if you like. I don’t need you to knock me out of one of those brain trips of mine if you don’t want to.”

           

“What happens if we both want the bed at the same time?” she asked.

           

He smirked at her. “If you promise not to take advantage of me, I promise not to take advantage of you.”

           

She hesitated, and then asked one simple question. “Why?”

           

He looked away from her, not meeting her eyes. “Because we’re both freaks in this world, luv.”

           

Rachel glanced down at the ground, and then up at him, and smiled sweetly. Spike felt something inside him turn over. How long had it been since anyone had looked at him with that kind of trust? Dawn had, and Buffy had, to a certain extent, at one point in time. He had no right to expect that anymore, and no right to ask that of this girl, but she gave it. And he, as something in between a man and a creature, needed it. “All right. It’s a deal then.”

           

They kept walking, talking idly. Her asking questions, he answering them. Whatever had happened between them had been intimate, too much so to want it to end just then. “So you were really called William the Bloody?”

           

“You’d better believe it. I was a bad bit of work. Still am.”

           

“But you said the name came from your bloody awful poetry.” Rachel shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans. What few realized was that you could know everything there was to know about a person: who they were, who they had been, even who they could be, but there was still that missing piece that simply took a lot of hard work to dig out. Even then, even after years, you still might not quite _get_ them. The fun was in the trying, though.

           

“No, that’s what the buggers at the sodding party said. The whole bloody bit was just to show them what it really meant.” Spike glanced over at her, still not sure what to make of her, but it was nice to just talk to someone. He noticed that she was shivering a bit in her thin red t-shirt, and he stripped off his jacket. “Here. You look cold.”

           

“Thanks,” she replied as she put it on.

           

“How old were you when you started picking up on things?” he asked, wanting to get a better sense of her.

           

“Eleven, when I first started being able to tell about people. I was fifteen before I started getting more than that.” Her hand came up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, and Spike sensed her nervousness. “There was this guy I really liked, and I thought he liked me back. Anyway, it was after our second or third date, and he leaned in to kiss me, and I knew. I could just feel that he didn’t really want to kiss me, and that he was thinking about some other girl. He wanted someone else.” She laughed. “Sunnydale High isn’t that big, and I knew exactly who he was interested in. So, I told him he could just keep his sorry hands to himself if he didn’t have the balls to ask out Emily Porter.”

           

“You said that?” Spike asked, incredulously.

           

She snorted. “Of course. I didn’t want to be kissed by some guy who was feeling bored with the whole process. But, he started talking about it with his friends, and it got around that I was…sensitive. The whole school started avoiding me. After that, I just wanted to hurry up and graduate, so I got out a year early and started college the summer after. I’ve made some friends, but they try not to get too close. I can’t really blame them, you know? It’s not fair that someone could know exactly how you’re feeling and yet keep what they feel from you. It makes the playing field uneven.”           

           

“Let me give you a bit of wisdom,” Spike said seriously. “The playing field is never even.”          

           

“Yeah, but no one else wants to know that.” She might have said more, but they both heard someone calling.

           

“Rachel?”

           

They both turned to face their follower, Spike tensing for a fight. Of course, he thought, as he saw who it was. It would have to be his least favorite person in Sunnydale.

           

“Xander? What are you doing?” Rachel asked.

           

He looked from her to Spike with both shock and disgust evident on his face. “I could ask you the same thing. Do you know this guy?”

           

“Spike?” Rachel looked from one to the other. “You know him too?”

           

“Know him? We’ve met. Several times, with very many unpleasant experiences. Why don’t you let me walk you home?” Xander reached out for her arm, but Rachel took a step back.

           

“Thanks anyway, but Spike already offered. Have a nice evening,” Rachel turned away as though to go, but Xander caught her arm before she could move away this time.

           

“I don’t think you know the kind of risk you’re taking here,” he said. “You don’t know what he is.”

           

Spike, who was watching the entire thing with a hint of bemusement on his face, looked at Rachel to see what she’d say. “On the contrary, Xander Harris. Spike happened to save my life last night, and very kindly offered to give me an escort this evening. And, if you’re referring to the small detail of his being a vampire, yes, I’m aware of that. It’s a good thing he is, because most guys I know would have taken one look at the creeps who tried to kill me last night, and run. So, if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to continue our chat.”

           

To Spike’s surprise, Xander dropped her arm without another word of protest. Xander glared at him, but said almost civilly, “Fine. Have a nice night.”

           

Both of them watched him walk away, and Spike turned to look at her. “You know Harris?”

           

Rachel shrugged. “I graduated the year behind him at Sunnydale, so yeah. And he and my dad work together. I’d see him sometimes if I’d visit my dad at a site.”

           

“You wouldn’t have to walk with me if you didn’t want to, you know.” Spike turned with her back toward the direction of his place.

           

“No, but it would be pretty hard to explain why I’m staying at your place then, wouldn’t it?”

 

# September 19

 

“You’ll never guess who I ran into last night,” Xander began as Buffy and Dawn got into his car for the drive to school.

           

“No, I guess I wouldn’t,” Buffy replied cheerfully. She had had a good patrol last night, cleaning out an entire nest of vampires. And it had been almost a week since she’d last seen Spike, which meant she didn’t have to think about him. Or what she was going to do about him. Or how she felt about him.

           

“Spike.”

           

Buffy froze. She hadn’t told anyone she’d seen him, and she really didn’t want Xander on her case for not telling him that the vampire was back in town. “Really?” she asked carefully.

           

“He’s back?” Dawn asked from the back seat. “Are you going to kill him, Buffy?”

           

“I’m not planning on killing anyone. Right now. What did he say?” she asked, turning to Xander, who frowned thoughtfully.

           

“Actually, Spike didn’t say anything. Rachel had plenty to say, however.” He shook his head. He still couldn’t see what the attraction was with women and Spike. He wasn’t sure he ever would.

           

“Who’s Rachel?” Buffy asked.

           

Xander shook his head. “She graduated a year behind us. Kind of a loner, I think. I know her dad from work. He’s a good guy. Probably freak if he found out his kid was hanging around with a blood sucking fiend.”

           

Buffy was puzzled. “But Spike didn’t say anything?”

           

“No, he just stood there.”

           

“And what did Rachel say? Was she not happy about being with him?” Buffy wasn’t too worried about the girl, to tell the truth. As far as she knew, the chip was still working, and what had happened between the two of them had nothing to do with anyone else.

           

He growled. “That’s just the thing. She wouldn’t even let me walk her home. She said that Spike had offered, and since he’d saved her life, she’d let him. And, she knew he was a vampire. What is it with you women and vampires?” he asked, exasperated.

           

“Well, Spike is kinda hot,” Dawn interjected.

           

“Dawn, don’t.” Buffy glanced over at Xander. “Look, I’ll go talk to him tonight, find out what he’s up to. As far as we know, he’s still harmless, so I don’t think you have to worry about your friend.”

           

“She’s not my friend,” Xander protested, “she’s the daughter of a friend. And Spike isn’t the most wholesome person on the planet.”

           

“Few of us are,” Buffy murmured.

 

~~~~~ 

 

Rachel spotted Professor Ness as soon as she walked into the classroom. “Professor?” she called as she walked up to him.

           

He turned to face her, a gentle smile on his face. Of all her teachers, he was her favorite. This was the third class she’d taken from him, and he always seemed glad to see her when he found her name on the class list. “Rachel. I missed you Tuesday.”

           

She flushed a bit. “I’m really sorry, Professor. I’ve had some family emergencies to deal with the past few days. I was trying to get it straightened out.”

           

He held up a hand to reassure her. “Don’t worry about it, Rachel. I’m sure you had a good reason. Why don’t you get the notes from one of your classmates? I don’t think you’ll have any problems getting caught up.”

           

Rachel hesitated. She didn’t know a soul in the class, so she had no idea who to ask for notes. “Sure. Thanks.”

           

Ness smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Try asking Willow Rosenberg. She usually sits in the front row a couple seats down from you.”

           

“Thanks,” she mumbled and went to find her seat. She took notes as she usually did through the class, sneaking surreptitious glances around the room to see if she could spot this Willow. Sure enough, just as Dr. Ness had said, she saw a thin red-haired girl sitting a few seats down, watching the lecturer with rapt attention and taking copious notes. As soon as Ness wrapped up his lecture, she took a deep breath and gathered her courage. “Um, Willow?” she asked tentatively, walking up to the other girl.

           

She looked up expectantly. “Yeah?”

           

Rachel hesitated and said, “My name is Rachel. Dr. Ness suggested I talk to you, for the notes for Tuesday. I had to miss class because of an emergency.”

           

Willow smiled brightly. “Sure. I don’t mind at all.” She flipped through her notebook and pulled out several pages that had been neatly filled.

           

Rachel gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I’ll have these back to you by the next class.”     

           

Willow waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. The midterm isn’t for a few weeks still.”

           

Rachel gave her a grateful smile. “Still, thanks a lot. I don’t know anybody in here.”

           

“Yeah. It’s a big school.” Willow gave her a closer look. “Hey, aren’t you in my women’s studies class?”

           

Rachel blinked. “Yeah. Are you heading there now?”

           

Willow took a look at her watch. “Well, if we don’t get going we’re going to be late.” The two headed towards their next class. Willow hesitated a couple times, and then asked, “Do you have a partner for the project yet?”

           

Rachel looked over in surprise. “No, actually, I hadn’t even really thought about it. I’ve had a lot of stuff on my plate recently.”

           

“Oh, good. I don’t have a partner yet either. Do you wanna do it together?”

           

Rachel didn’t have to think about it too hard. She hadn’t thought she’d be able to find a partner. “Sure. What were you thinking about doing?”

           

Willow immediately started talking about a movie based on a book that she’d recently seen. It sounded like it would be perfect for the scope of the project they needed to do, and Willow was sharp. Rachel soon realized that not only would Willow make a good partner, they might also be pretty good friends. Except for the fact that she didn’t have friends. Willow paused, “I’m sorry. I’m going on and on, and I didn’t even ask if you had any ideas.”

           

“No, yours sound great,” Rachel replied as they took their seats for the next class. “Do you want to meet sometime to talk a little more?”

           

“How does lunch sound?” Willow asked. “I wasn’t planning on anything.”

           

Rachel nodded. “Okay. I’ve got class at one, but I’m free till then.”

           

Lunch that day was actually fun. Rachel was used to eating by herself, and had almost forgotten that normal people talked while they ate. They had just talked about meeting on Saturday at Willow’s place when a pretty blonde walked up to their table. “Hey, Willow.”

           

Willow turned with a pleased smile on her face. “Buffy! You got out of school early.”

           

“Yep. It was very not busy and Principle Wood let me go early.” Buffy sat down next to Willow and then looked over at Rachel. “Hi.”

           

Rachel gave a half-hearted smile. “Hi.”

           

“Oh. Buffy, this is Rachel. Rachel, Buffy.” Turning to Buffy, Willow explained, “Rachel and I are doing our group project for the women’s studies class together.”

           

“Girl power. Cool.” Buffy commented.

           

There was a moment of awkward silence, and Rachel stood. “I should really be going. I’ve got a quiz in my next class and I should look over the material. I’ll see you Saturday, Willow. It was nice to meet you, Buffy.”

           

Buffy and Willow watched her go. “She seems nice,” Buffy commented.

           

“She is. I think she’s a little shy, but she’s really nice.” Willow watched her go with a wistful look on her face.

           

“You thinking of Tara?”

           

Willow looked back at her friend. “Yeah, I can’t help it. Half the time I turn around and I can swear I see her there. And then, when I’m with someone else, she’s the only person I really want to be with.”

           

“I’m sorry, Will. It’s hard to come back to a place where you have that many memories together.” Buffy reached out and touched her on the shoulder. “You just have to give it time.”

           

“I know. I think this project will be good, though. Give me something to do kinda. Keep my mind off things.” Willow made a slight attempt at a smile.

           

“Speaking of things,” Buffy began, “I thought I’d better let you know that Spike’s back in town.”

           

Willow’s eyebrows went up. “Spike’s back? I thought he was gone for good.”

           

Buffy made a face. “So did everyone else.”

           

“When did he get back? A-and what are you going to do?” Willow looked concerned. “Are you going to kill him?”

           

“No, I’m not going to kill him. Though I would have liked to at any number of points.” Buffy sighed. “I’m not sure when he got back, but I saw him a few days ago. He seemed kind of dazed, like he wasn’t all there. I figured it was due to the fist I put in his face, but it’s hard to say with Spike.”

           

Willow looked concerned. “You saw him a few days ago and you didn’t say anything?”

           

Buffy shook her head. “I didn’t want to. What happened between the two of us didn’t have anything to do with anyone else. And it’s complicated. I didn’t know what to tell you all. I saw him, I punched him in the nose, and I told him I didn’t want to see him again. I figured that was enough.”

           

Willow shrugged. She could certainly see Buffy’s point. “So what made you change your mind about saying something?”

           

“Xander saw him the other night with a girl. I promised him I’d make sure Spike wasn’t doing anything that would make me kill him.” Buffy made a face. “Knowing Spike, this probably won’t be pleasant.”

           

~~~~~ 

 

“Slayer.” Spike stepped out of his crypt to find her walking up to his door. “What brings you by

on this fine evening? I thought I wasn’t going to be seeing you again.”

           

“Spike. Xander told me you had company the other night.” Buffy stood in front of him, feeling a twinge of nerves run up her spine. He still made her nervous. No matter how thoroughly she thought she had worked through it, the fact was that she was just a little scared of him now. She had thought she could trust him, and now she knew exactly what he was capable of.

           

“A friend,” he replied. He looked at her and glanced away, not meeting her eyes. “She needed somebody to walk her home. I volunteered for the job. End of story.”

           

“So who is she, Spike? Just some quick fix to get you through Buffy withdrawal?” Buffy knew she was being cruel, but the habit was pretty much ingrained at this point. Half the time, things came out of her mouth without her even thinking about what they would sound like in the air.

           

Spike flinched and his jaw tightened. “She’s a friend,” he ground out. “I saved her life a few nights ago. She about got bit by a gang of vamps. Managed to dust them before they got the better of her. I didn’t want to see it happen again.” He turned to face her. “What’s your deal, Buffy? You want me to stay away from you, but you can’t seem to stay away from me. Do me a favor and make up your bloody mind which way you want it.”

           

Buffy winced. “Spike-”

           

“Forget it.” He shook his head and turned to walk away. “Look, Buffy, I’m sorry about what happened between the two of us, and I meant what I said about you needing me. If you need my help I’ll be there in a second, but I can’t do this. I’m neutered, remember? I’m not going to hurt anybody. We’re not friends, so what I do on my own time is my own sodding business. You need me for something other than the third degree, let me know.”

           

“Spike, I’m sorry. That comment was out of line.”

           

The apology hung in the air between the two of them. The vampire wasn’t sure that she’d ever put those particular words in the same sentence before. He glanced down and turned to face her once again. “It’s fine. I’m a little jumpy tonight.” The sharp pain came out of nowhere, and Spike winced, putting one hand to his head.

           

Buffy moved forward. “Are you okay?” she asked, putting one hand out as though to touch him.

           

Spike rubbed his forehead. “I’m fine. Look, Buffy, I have to go. I’m gonna be late.”

           

“What happened between the two of us,” Buffy began. When he looked her in the eyes, she continued. “We both made mistakes.”

           

“Yeah,” he replied quietly. “Call me if you need my help, Slayer.” And he walked off into the night.

 

~~~~~ 

 

Spike stood outside the warmly lit coffee house where Rachel was vainly trying to pour some knowledge into the head of a very meaty looking jock. He watched in fascination as she tucked her hair behind one ear, and tried once again to explain the importance of integrals in calculus, finally looking at the boy in frustration. “Did you read the chapter?” she asked, her voice cracking a bit with impatience.

           

The boy had the grace to look ashamed of himself and flushed a bit. “No, I didn’t have time.”

           

“Well, if you don’t take the time, you won’t make the grades, Troy.” She sighed, rubbing tired eyes with her hands. “Tell you what. Take your book home. _Read_ the chapters, and try to do the homework for next week. When we meet on Monday, we can go over it and I’ll answer your questions. All right?”

           

He nodded, and scooped up his books and left without a backwards glance. Spike rolled his eyes. Pathetic whelp. Wasn’t even gentleman enough to offer the girl an escort home. “Ready to go, duchess?” he asked quietly from behind her.

           

Rachel looked up at him gratefully. “Yes. Thanks for walking me back tonight, Spike. You really don’t have to, you know.”

           

“You really should stop telling me what I don’t have to do. I’m not a fighting vamp anymore, which means I have very long nights.” Spike lit his cigarette, watching the red-orange glow of the tip, and taking a long drag.

           

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Rachel asked, her tone slightly exasperated.

           

“What, duchess?” Spike looked over at her, a sly twinkle in his blue eyes. “You get that look on your face like you own the whole sodding planet.” He smirked as she glared at him. “In fact, you got that look on your face right now.”

           

Rachel tried to suppress a smile, but didn’t do a very good job. She finally gave up, and punched him. “Ow,” he protested. “I just call ‘em like I see ‘em, luv.”

           

“Whatever,” she replied, yawning. “Oh, I’m so tired, and I’ve got the first nine chapters of _Great Expectations_ to read for class tomorrow. I’d totally forgotten about it till today.”

           

“ _Great Expectations_?” Spike asked. “What kind of book is that?”

           

“Dickens,” Rachel explained. “It’s about a boy who falls in love with a girl who doesn’t love him back. I have a feeling I’m going to fall asleep in the middle of the second chapter.” She rubbed her eyes again.

           

Spike hesitated. “Maybe you could read it out loud,” he suggested. “That’ll keep you awake to read it.”

           

Glancing at him in surprise, Rachel shifted her pack into a more comfortable position. “All nine chapters?” she asked. “That’ll take me all night.”

           

“Tell you what, luv,” he said. “If you read the first four, I’ll read the next five.” At her look of surprise, he rolled his eyes. “For your information, I do remember how to read.” He made a sound like a snort. “Used to be a bloody lit major when I was at university,” he muttered.

           

“All right,” Rachel said, taking him up on his offer. “At least it’ll make Dickens a bit more interesting.”

           

By the end of the ninth chapter, not only was Dickens more interesting, but Rachel had also discovered that Spike could make a fortune reading books on tape. The voice, the accent, especially with an author like Dickens, he made the story sound that much more authentic, and she told him so.

           

“I’d hope so. Bloody well attended a few of his readings, though I never actually got to meet the man.” Spike put the book down and lightly touched the cover. He felt for old Pip; he could already see where the story was going to go. He’d forgotten that a novel, or even poetry for that matter, could suck you in, make you feel like you were in a different world. For a minute there, he’d been home, in England, when he was young and human and untainted by life’s more bitter experiences. Oh, he felt for Pip indeed.

           

Rachel sat up taller on the floor. “You actually saw Charles Dickens?” she exclaimed incredulously. “How old are you?”

           

He sighed. “130 and a bit,” he replied. “Relatively young in the world I live in.”

           

Despite her interest, Rachel couldn’t keep back another yawn. “I’m sorry, Spike. I have to go to bed, but I want to hear more about this tomorrow.”

           

“Sure, pet,” he replied. “You want me to walk you home again?”

           

She shook her head. “No, I don’t have any students tomorrow, so I’ll probably just come back here and start on homework. Thanks though,” she said, smiling at him. Rachel squeezed his shoulder in a fond sort of goodnight. “’Night, Spike.”

           

The vampire touched his shoulder. He could still feel her hand pressed down, in a gesture of warm companionship. “Night,” he called down after her. He sat in his chair for a long time after that, remembering what had been so long ago.

 

# September 20

 

Buffy approached the crypt cautiously. She wasn’t sure why she was there or what had brought her. By all reasonable standards, she should be doing her absolute best to stay away, and yet she found herself at his door yet again. There was just something about him that didn’t seem right. Spike was acting differently, and the way he’d grabbed at his head the other night suggested that something might be wrong with him. She wondered, vaguely, if he hadn’t gone and gotten the chip out of his head. Maybe he was a danger to society again.

           

She froze outside the rough wooden door. Voices floated clearly through, and she pressed closer in order to hear more clearly, feeling slightly guilty for eavesdropping.

           

“Sure, heard him read _A Christmas Carol_ myself. Seemed a bit much at the time, you know, ghosts and all that rubbish. Of course, I had to go off and get bit by a vampire, which makes that much more sense.” Spike’s familiar voice came through clearly. Buffy heard a feminine voice, but couldn’t make out the words, and then the vampire’s reply. “Nah, I was more into Shakespeare, some of the poets, that sort of thing. Been thinking a lot of Hamlet recently. That whole ‘To be, or not to be’ bit. Thought it was over the top, he was being a dramatic bugger, not killing his bastard of an uncle when he got the chance. I like that speech a lot more now. Think I’m beginning to see where the torment was.”

           

Buffy moved in closer to the door, frowning. She’d never heard Spike talk quite this way before. She could just make out the girl’s voice. “You would make a good Hamlet. Blond, moody, dresses in black. You wouldn’t even need a costume.”

           

“Hey now!” Spike protested loudly. “Watch out who you’re calling moody. Broodiness is for poofters, not for the Big Bad.”

           

“Right,” came the voice, filled with laughter. “You’ve got me scared now.”

           

“Well,” came the disgruntled reply, “just as long as you remember that I’m not the broody one. Just thinking a bit more lately. My head’s been swimming, you know.”

           

“I know.” There was a moment of silence, and then a quiet, “I think I’m going to head off now. I’m just not used to the whole night owl thing.”

           

“Right then. Good night, luv.”

           

Buffy scrambled away from the door, not wanting to be caught listening. She waited for the girl to come out, but there was nothing at all until the door opened and Spike stepped outside. He stood, outlined against the light from the crypt as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. While the Slayer didn’t remember much from her literature classes, she vaguely recalled _Hamlet_ , which had been filled with large words, most of which she hadn’t understood. From what she did recall, Hamlet had pretended to be crazy in order to kill his uncle, and he’d worn black a lot. And he had that really famous speech that she had been shocked to discover was all about suicide. She didn’t have time to process that bit of information, because Spike looked up suddenly and frowned.

           

“All right,” he called. “You can come out of wherever you’re hiding or I can come find you. And I promise it won’t be pleasant.”

           

Buffy stepped out of the shadows, slightly shame-faced. “Spike,” she greeted him.

           

“Buffy? What brings you here? Is something the matter?” He moved away from the crypt to meet her, looking genuinely concerned, which threw her.

           

She shook her head. “No, nothing’s wrong. I just—” She paused. “Do you have a guest?”

           

Spike stared at her for a moment and then glanced back at his door. His eyes met hers, and as she flushed, he cocked one eyebrow. “Listening at doors, were we?” he asked, going back to shut the door firmly. “Shame on you, Slayer. Surely Giles taught you better manners than that.”

           

It was the same mannerisms. The same words. Still mocking her slightly, still lightly making fun. And yet, his eyes were different, the tone of his voice, the way in which he looked at her. If she didn’t know better, she’d say that Spike had more than changed, that he had become someone else, yet remained Spike. She shook her head. That was impossible. “I didn’t mean to,” she said quietly. “It just happened. Why is she staying with you?”

           

He hesitated, not sure what he should tell her, or why he needed to explain himself to her. She’d made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing more to do with him, and yet she kept coming back, kept playing with his head. Finally he turned, walking away from her and into the larger cemetery. “I told you the other night. She’s a friend. She happens to need a place to stay right now. I offered her the use of mine.”

           

“She doesn’t have any other friends?” Buffy asked incredulously. She couldn’t picture someone who would actually need Spike that badly. Or who would want to live in a crypt.

           

“None that’ll let her stay with them.” Spike looked at her, knowing exactly what she was thinking. “You want to know why she was desperate, you can ask her,” he said, exasperated. “She needed a place, I let her use mine. It’s a fair deal.”

           

“Why? Is she paying you rent?” Buffy was trying to understand what Spike got out of this arrangement.

           

“No,” he replied, seating himself on a tombstone and lighting another cigarette, “she talks to me. It might sound a bit strange, but I like the company. I like being able to talk to someone. And before you ask, yeah, she knows as much about me and my past as you do, probably.”

           

Buffy didn’t know what to say exactly. She had never thought of Spike as lonely, but he had been part of the gang for a while, and now he very much wasn’t. It would be hard to go from being something of an insider, an integral part, to being unwanted. Who could blame him for wanting some company?

           

“Last night, you had a headache. Is your chip still working?” she demanded.

           

Spike started laughing, a deeply bitter laugh that set her teeth on edge. “I told you, Slayer,” he said coldly, once he’d gotten himself under control, “I’m neutered. Can’t hurt anyone. What’s more, I don’t want to. So now that we’ve gotten that straightened out, you can leave me in peace.”

           

Buffy watched him walk back toward the crypt, struggling with herself. She called to him just as he reached his door. “Do you want to come on patrol with me sometime?” she asked. “I’ve been taking Dawn some nights, but other nights she has school and…” she trailed off. “It’s strange patrolling by myself again,” she confessed.

           

Spike stood where he was, not turning. “Why me?” he asked.

           

“You’ve never let me down when it concerns business,” she said. “Maybe the personal stuff got screwed up, but you’ve never let me down in a fight.”

           

He looked down at the ground, struggling with his emotions. “Fine,” he said. “If you need me, and I’m free, I’ll watch your back.” He said nothing more, but simply walked inside.

           

“Right,” Buffy muttered, feeling as though she’d made some sort of progress. “If I need you.”

 

# September 21

 

Rachel came back to the crypt early. Spike had drunk himself into a stupor the night before, and had passed out in the chair on the upper level. She’d left him to sleep it off, going to the campus rec center to work out and shower, and then taking care of her Saturday afternoon students. She didn’t really want to spend the rest of her day on campus before heading over to Willow’s to work on their project, so she went back to Spike’s, thinking she could possibly catch a nap or read a book for a while. Whatever plans she might have had went right out the window when she walked in the door, however.

           

Spike was still in his chair, tossing slightly from whatever nightmare held him in its grip. She could feel it thickening the air of the room, making it difficult to breathe or even think. Without a second thought, Rachel dropped her backpack on the floor and moved swiftly to his side. “Spike?” she called tentatively. “Spike, come on, you need to wake up.” When he didn’t stir, she grabbed him by both shoulders and shook him. “Spike!”

           

He came out of it violently, pushing her back to land with a thump on the floor. He sat, staring at her, his blue eyes wide with remembered horror. “Buffy?” he asked, sounding as though he might start to cry at any moment.

           

Rachel flinched. She had gotten enough to know that the dream had everything to do with Buffy. What’s more, she’d felt what he had felt: horror, shame, rage, rejection, desire. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to add up that equation. At the same time, she _knew_ Spike, knew he didn’t have that kind of violence in him now, not with the soul. “Spike, it’s Rachel. Come on, it was just a dream,” she got up to kneel beside his chair and put one hand on his arm.

           

Spike jerked back as though he’d been burned, and then relaxed as he recognized her. “Rachel, I’m sorry, I just—”

           

“I know. It was just a bad dream.” She reached out to touch him again, to reassure herself that he was okay, and to calm him, and was relieved when he relaxed into his chair. “You should go to bed,” she suggested quietly. “You still aren’t sleeping well.”

           

Spike looked at her blankly and shook his head. “I won’t sleep after that,” he replied, wiping his forehead with one trembling hand. “Can’t deal with another dream like that today anyway, duchess.”

           

“All right,” she replied, keeping her hand on his arm and slowly moving her thumb in soothing circles. “Tell me about you as a child, Spike.”

           

He glanced over at her, surprised at the question. “Why?”

           

“Humor me.”

           

Spike was completely wiped out from the dream, and was too tired to argue. Besides, why not humor her? He told stories about his days as the Big Bad, why not tales of his childhood? “Grew up in London,” he began. “We didn’t have so much money that we were rich, and we didn’t have so little we were poor neither, which put us in the middle. Guess you could say we were middle class, but there wasn’t any such thing back then, or if there was, that’s not what you called it.” He could feel himself drifting back, remembering what it had been to live, to be a student, to be William.

           

“Tell me about your mother,” Rachel was concentrating hard. Oddly enough, it took more effort to trigger the kinds of memories that would make for a sound sleep and sweet dreams. Knocking Spike out of one of his flashbacks was a lot like punching him in the face, mentally speaking. While she usually got punched back, it didn’t take that much energy. Fostering a sense of peace was a lot more like carrying him a long distance over rough terrain, possibly because he’d had so little peace in the last hundred-plus years. If she could get him to think happy thoughts, it might make it a little easier.

           

“My mum?” Spike’s eyes closed. He could remember sitting in the garden leaning against her as she read to him. Whatever his later life had been like, his mum had been determined to give him a love of literature and a good heart. “My own sweet William,” she’d called him. The dream was as vivid as the day had been. Birds chirping in the trees, the flowers sending their sweet scents into the air. His mother, who smelled of lavender, holding him, her arms warm and tender, reading to him out of a play by Shakespeare, her tongue lightly tripping over the words, never missing a beat. He was eight years old, and the world was a lovely place to be, and he had never fallen from grace.

 

~~~~~ 

 

The burger from the Doublemeat Palace had helped, but Rachel hadn’t yet regained her full strength. That little session with Spike had taken more out of her than she liked to admit, but the smile on his face had been worth it. She had been able to feel the utter contentment radiating off of him, and that was reward enough for her. What emotional reserves she had were dangerously low, though, which meant that it would be hard for her to block emotions coming from others. Well, she’d just have to hope that Willow was having a good day.

           

Willow _was_ having a good day. “Rachel,” the redhead greeted as she threw open the door. “How’s it going?”

           

Rachel smiled in response. “Good. You’re chipper.”

           

“I just made chocolate chip cookies. They always put me in a good mood. You look kind of tired.”

           

“Sleeping’s been a bit rough lately. I’ll survive.” Rachel followed her inside and they quickly got to work. They were making good progress on their project, deciding which scenes to read out of the novel and then compare with movie clips, and who was going to say what. During the course of the evening, they talked about other things as well. Even underneath the cheerful exterior, there was a layer of sadness and grief, and it didn’t take too long to find out that Willow’s love, Tara, had been killed. There was more to it than that, but Rachel was trying hard not to probe at all. Whatever she found out, she wanted to find out from Willow.

           

The difficult part was in not telling Willow anything that might give away the fact that she was living with a vampire who was most likely Buffy’s ex-something. She’d managed to pretty much skirt all the dangerous issues when the back door opened and Xander walked in. Rachel could only pray that there wasn’t going to be a scene.

           

“Hey, Willow. What’s up?”

           

Willow looked up and smiled as Xander swiped a cookie from the plate. “We’re working on a project. Lots of women power and stuff like that.” Willow felt a shift in tension and looked over at Rachel, who was trying very hard to not look at Xander. When she looked over at Xander, he was getting a look of dawning recognition on his face. “Um, do you two know each other?”

           

“We’ve met.” Rachel stood up and started gathering her stuff together. “You know, it’s probably time for me to get home.”

           

It might have worked. She might have actually made it out the door with no further problems, except that Buffy chose just that moment to walk in the kitchen. “Hi, Willow, Xander.” She looked at Rachel with a smile. “Hey. Rachel, right?”

           

Rachel smiled slightly. “Yeah. You know, I really should be going now.”

           

Buffy looked surprised. “Okay. Do you need someone to walk you home?”

           

“No, I’ll be fine,” she replied, brushing a stray curl out of her eyes.

           

Xander stepped up to look at her. “Is Spike walking you home again?”

           

Rachel stiffened. She could feel the tension level in the room rise about three notches. “You know Spike?” Buffy asked.

           

“Rachel’s the one who was walking with him the other night,” Xander explained. “I told you about it.”

           

Buffy looked at Rachel and the light dawned. “You’re staying with Spike. You’re the friend. Does he know you’re here?” Rachel was having trouble blocking the emotions that were swimming around the room. Betrayal, anger, pain, fear. She took a deep breath, trying to fend it off.

           

“He doesn’t know anything. I left him a note telling him I was working on a school project. He doesn’t even know that I know you, all right?” Rachel’s chest was getting tight, and she was beginning to feel claustrophobic. There was too much to feel, too many people, and she couldn’t block it at all. “I gotta go.”

           

Buffy’s face softened. She could tell that Rachel was scared, and reached out to touch her arm. “Fine. He doesn’t know you’re here. But if Spike’s not walking you home, then someone needs to.” It was skin on skin contact, the hardest kind to block. The feelings and sensations came in like a flood. Power, pain, hope, strength. The feeling of being perfectly at peace, happy, with no pain, and then being ripped out of that state into a kind of hell. Self-hatred and self-acceptance. Self-pity and self-doubt. Love, an aching endless love, and a righteous fury. It was, in the end, too much. Rachel wrenched herself out of contact, and met Buffy’s eyes in one, long look. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and then collapsed.

           

Buffy, Willow, and Xander stood looking at her in shock. “What just happened?” Xander finally asked.

           

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t know. I just touched her. Xander, help me get her to the couch.” Between the two of them they got her stretched out, and Buffy stepped back warily. “Willow, do you know anything we should? Does this have anything to do with magic, or…” she trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

           

Willow shook her head emphatically. “No, there isn’t anything I know of that would have caused her to collapse like that. She’s been fine all evening.”

           

“Hey guys. What’s going on? Why is Rachel laying on the couch?” Dawn walked up behind the trio, looking from one to the other curiously. “What happened to her?”

           

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t know, Dawnie. I just touched her, and the next thing I know she’s having some kind of fit and passing out.”

           

Rachel began to stir from her place on the couch, and Willow moved to her side. “Rachel, are you okay?” She was about to touch her arm when Rachel shook her head emphatically.

           

“Don’t touch me. Just, don’t touch me please.” She put her hands up to her face and rubbed. “Look, I’m sorry, I’m tired, and I can’t block when I’m tired.”

           

Buffy knelt down beside Willow. “Slow down, it’s okay. There’s nothing to be sorry for. What is it that you can’t block?”

           

Rachel met her eyes with guilt and fear. “You. I couldn’t block you. I feel—” She stopped. “I’m not human, okay? Not completely. So I’m sensitive. I feel what people are feeling or have felt, and I just had a rough afternoon, and contact is hard to deal with, so I—I know you.”

           

Comprehension slowly dawned on Buffy’s face. Just before the other girl had collapsed, she’d had a look in her eyes much like the one she’d had in her own after her friends brought her back to life. “You read my mind?” she asked with a look of horror.

           

Rachel’s eyes brimmed and she shook her head again. “No, you don’t understand. I feel. I know feelings, not words. I guess you’d say I read people’s souls.” She looked from face to face, hoping to see acceptance, or at the very least, a certain understanding, but all were beginning to put distance between themselves and Rachel, both physical and emotional. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “I’m going to leave.”

           

“You’re going back to Spike?” Xander asked, angry. He couldn’t believe that she knew people that well. If it was so hard for her to read Buffy, then why would she even consent to staying with a vampire, the very epitome of evil, unless there was something wrong with her.

           

Rachel froze, her pack in one hand, the other hand on the doorknob. “I think I know Spike better than anyone in this room,” she quietly said. “And he’s the only one who’s never treated me like a freak.” That said, Rachel opened to door and walked out into the night.

 

# September 22

 

Spike woke slowly, feeling pleasantly drowsy, despite the fact that he was still in his chair. His dreams had been sweet for a change, and as he became more aware of the world around him, he realized that it was midday. He frowned slightly. He’d fallen asleep late in the day, which meant he’d slept round the clock, an event that surprised him. “Rachel?” he called.

           

Getting no response, he went downstairs, but she wasn’t there either. He climbed back up the ladder and looked around, a slip of paper catching his eye. He picked it up and scanned it quickly. “Went to a friend’s house to study. Be back later tonight. Sleep tight, Rachel.” A tinge of worry tickled Spike’s brain. He was fairly certain that she hadn’t come back last night. He wasn’t such a heavy sleeper that he would have missed her entrance entirely, not if he wasn’t having some sort of flashback or nightmare holding him tightly in its grip. The door squeaked for a very good reason.

           

He didn’t even bother glancing outside. It would be a few hours at least before the sun went down and he could go looking for her. She might be back by then, but if she wasn’t he’d find her. The note didn’t give him any clues as to where to start, but he knew all the usual haunts for kids her age, and he’d move on from there.

           

Spike ate in front of the TV, twitching nervously from time to time. His worry was growing. He was more certain than ever that she simply hadn’t come home, and his fear was that she’d gotten herself bitten by some vampire. And then, someone would have to stake her, and he didn’t like the thought of staking one of his friends. The second the sun dipped below the horizon, he was out the door, shrugging into his jacket and stepping out purposefully.

           

He was too busy looking for his roommate to pay attention to what was in front of him when he ran into a warm body. “Sorry,” he said shortly, twisting to get past her and move on.

           

“Spike?”

           

Spike turned, seeing Willow standing there, looking at him in surprise. “Sorry, Red. Didn’t see you there.”

           

She made a face. “I kind of noticed. What are you doing looking all hunt-y?”

           

He shrugged, uncomfortable. “Looking for a friend of mine. ‘Sall.”

           

He might have moved on, but her next words stopped him. “Is your friend named Rachel?” she asked.

           

He looked back at her, surprised, then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You know Rachel?” She would have replied, but he beat her to it. “You were the friend whose house she was at.”

           

Willow looked a bit shamefaced. “We have some classes together and were working on a group project.” 

           

“What happened?” he asked flatly. Willow had never been any good at hiding things, except perhaps her use of magic, but he could have smelled the guilt on her from a mile away.

           

She explained quickly, and Spike nodded, one eyebrow twisting up into a wry expression. “Well, I can’t fault her,” he muttered, half to himself. “Buffy could knock me over with a look.” At the look on Willow’s face he shrugged. “Look, Red, thanks for the information. I should find her; she’s probably feeling pretty lousy about what happened.”

           

“Sure,” Willow watched him go, feeling strange. Buffy was right, there was something different about him, and if she hadn’t thought so before, his next words clinched it. Spike half-turned to look at her, an odd expression on his face. Odd for Spike that is. “Willow. I was sorry to hear about Tara. I liked her. She was decent.”

           

Willow blinked back sudden tears, unsure of why Spike’s sympathy would feel so precious, and yet so out of place. “Thanks.” She watched him turn and walk on, and then with a sudden decision ran to catch up with him. “Wait. Spike. Let me help you find her. There’s a spell I can do.”

           

He looked down at her in surprise. “Thought you were off the magic, Red.”

           

“Not really. I’m trying to control it. It’s a really simple spell, and it would probably be faster than wandering around all night.” Willow looked at him hopefully.

           

“Why?” he asked.

           

“I feel kind of responsible for what happened,” she explained. “And she’s my friend too.”

           

They found the supplies they needed and a quiet spot to work. Spike leaned up against a building, watching her. He wasn’t sure he quite trusted her around magic yet, but she’d made good, and was doing better. He certainly wasn’t someone who could refuse another a second chance. He needed too many of them himself. It was just as quick as she’d promised, and Willow looked up with an expression of triumph on her face. “She’s at the theater.”

           

Spike somehow wasn’t that surprised when Willow followed him to the theater and waited as he went to ask the ticket agent if he’d seen Rachel. “About this high,” he explained, holding a hand at neck level, “curly reddish blonde hair, blue eyes.”

           

The agent, a young man who looked as though he was barely out of high school, nodded vigorously. “Sure, you’re looking for Rachel. I went to high school with her.”

           

“Great,” Spike said. “So you could tell me what movie she bought a ticket for?”

           

The boy smiled. “Well, she bought a ticket for about three of them, but I think the last one should be getting out in about 45 minutes.” When Spike turned to head back outside, he called out after him, “If you want to be sure not to miss her, you’ll want to go around to the side. The counter’s shutting down in 15 minutes or so. Everyone’ll have to exit out that door.”

           

“Thanks, mate,” Spike said, real gratitude in his voice.

           

“Hey, are you her boyfriend or something?”

           

The vampire didn’t even turn around. “Or something.”

           

Spike didn’t even ask when Willow came to stand beside him across from the exit door, which was stationed in between the buildings. He leaned up against the wall and lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag. His sanity felt amazingly more secure after a solid 24 hours worth of sleep, and aside from worrying about Rachel, he was the closest to being at peace since he’d gotten his soul back. Perhaps it was the dreams he’d had. He could still smell his mother’s perfume.

           

“Spike? Can I ask you a question?”

           

He looked over at his companion, who was looking at him speculatively. Considering the question, he finally looked away to take another drag on his cig. “You can ask,” he replied.

           

“Why did you come back? After what happened, we thought we’d seen the last of you. And where did you go?” Willow was incredibly curious. The difference in Spike was there, but was so elusive she couldn’t put her finger on it. Something told her that the answers to her questions might give her a clue to his inexplicable change.

           

“I went to look for a legend, Red,” he murmured. “The Biggest Bad of them all. He was supposed to grant wishes for a price. I came back because what I needed couldn’t be found anywhere else.” He glanced over at her, and a disgusted look crossed his face when he saw her expression. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I wasn’t talking about Buffy.”

           

Willow actually believed him, though she wasn’t sure how he’d known what she was thinking. “What did—Did you get what you wished for?”

           

“Depends on your point of view, pet,” Spike said. He thought about it. He’d wanted his soul back, but he’d wanted other things as well: to be loved, to be accepted, to be able to find some kind of peace. Instead, the flashbacks and nightmares bent his mind as all his past victims howled their righteous fury into his brain. Angel had made it look easy, but Spike knew better now. He knew how far beneath Buffy he really was, how far beneath humanity he was. He’d returned, not for Buffy, but for absolution, with no hope of finding it. “Suppose I got what I wanted in a twisted sort of way.”

           

Willow considered asking him what he’d wished for, but she knew he wasn’t going to tell her. “What’s with you and Rachel?” she finally asked. “You were completely like, ‘Oh, Buffy,’ for so long, and now…”

           

He looked at her, cocking his scarred eyebrow. “What is this, twenty questions?” he asked. Spike sighed. He didn’t really mind talking to Willow; their relationship had always been one of wary tolerance, a sight better than the outright disgust Xander or even Giles had felt for him. “Rachel treats me like a person,” he finally said. “Freaks of a feather and all that bollocks.” With a practiced movement of thumb and finger, Spike flicked the cigarette out into the night.

           

Willow looked at him, suddenly reminded of a time soon after Buffy had returned from the dead. She remembered the look on his face as he realized they were going to shut him out; that three months of saving their lives and fighting next to them and babysitting a dead Slayer’s kid sister meant nothing in the long run. In the long run, he was the Evil Undead, and not to be trusted. She felt a stab of guilt. Whatever he was, whatever he had done, he had deserved more from them. If the measure of a person was how you treated those you didn’t like, Spike had been more of a “person” than any of them. “We weren’t very good at that, were we?”

           

The vampire looked at her sharply, surprised to see the sympathy in her eyes. “What I did, I did for reasons of my own, Red. I wasn’t—I’m not a man; there wasn’t any reason for you to treat me as such.” He got a far-away look in his eyes. “Buffy treated me like a man, even made me believe for a while that I was. Rachel makes me remember what that felt like.”

           

She looked at him, wondering idly what it would have meant if they hadn’t gotten rid of him so quickly after Buffy got back, what it might have meant if they’d accepted him. Maybe some things would have been different; it couldn’t have been any worse than it was there at the end. “Is it--?” Willow stopped, thinking that it was a dumb question.

           

“Is it what, luv?” he asked, looking off into the night.

           

“It was a dumb question,” she replied, but at the look on his face, decided to continue. “I was just going to ask if it was weird having someone know what you’re feeling all the time, but then I remembered Rachel saying she read souls, and of course you don’t have one.”

           

Spike gave her a long measured look, but said nothing except, “Of course not. Vampires don’t have souls.”

           

“Well, Angel did,” Willow added, “but he was cursed, and there’s no way you could do anything to get yourself cursed for.”

           

“No way indeed,” he replied, his lip twitching just a little. It was the first time he’d found having a soul funny. What would they all say if they found out that he not only had a soul, but that he’d gone looking for it? What vampire in their right mind pulled a bloody stupid stunt like that?

           

The door across from them opened, and Spike went on alert, his muscles tightening imperceptibly. As the traffic flowed past the two, barely sparing a glance for the man and woman waiting in the shadows, he watched for his target. Suddenly, one pale hand shot out, grabbing an arm and pulling Rachel out of the stream of theater patrons. He pulled her to the side before she could even squeak a protest, hissing, “You want to tell me what the bloody hell kind of stunt you’re trying to pull?”

           

Rachel looked startled. “Spike—”

           

“You left a note saying you’d be back, and then you don’t show. What was I supposed to think?” he demanded.

           

She looked at him, puzzled. “Is this one of those ‘I saved your life so I’m responsible for you’ speeches?” she asked lightly. When he didn’t look amused, her puzzled look faded to one of guilt. “I didn’t realize you’d be worried about me,” she said truthfully. “Nobody’s ever worried about me before.”

           

Spike’s fierce glare faded. “You want to tell me where you were, duchess?”

           

Rachel looked abashed. “I snuck into my dad’s basement and stayed there last night. I’m sorry, Spike, I just needed some space.”

           

“Fine,” he replied, looking more relaxed. “Next time sneak yourself into my crypt so at least I’m not thinking you got eaten by something nasty. I know what hides in the shadows in this town, pet, remember? I’m one of the bad guys.”

           

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, right. I’m so scared of you it isn’t even funny.”

           

Spike shot her a glare. “I was the biggest bad this town had ever seen,” he replied indignantly.

           

She patted his arm. “I’m sure everyone was absolutely terrified of you.” She looked over to see Willow leaning against the wall. “Willow? What are you doing here?”

           

The witch gave her a hesitant smile. “I ran into Spike when he was looking for you and decided to give him a hand. I’m sorry about what happened the other night.”

           

Rachel shook her head. “No, it was my fault. I should have been more careful.”

           

Willow stepped toward her. “So, do you still want to work on the project with me?”       

           

The other girl looked surprised. “I didn’t think you’d want to, but sure. Though, maybe we could meet somewhere else next time?”

           

“Sure. The student center has some pretty nice places to meet,” she offered. “I’d better go. The gang’s gonna be wondering where I am, but I’ll see you on Tuesday?” When Rachel nodded, Willow looked over at Spike. “Have a nice night, you two.”

           

She walked a little ways away, and then turned to watch the pair. Spike had taken Rachel’s pack and slung it over his shoulder. The girl said something to make him smile. His reply made her laugh, and Willow couldn’t help but notice that she had never seen Spike as relaxed with anyone as he was with Rachel. She wondered if it was the person he was with that caused the change, or if it was the absence of someone else. Shaking her head, she headed to the Bronze, hoping her friends hadn’t already left without her.

 

# September 27

 

Buffy walked up to Spike’s crypt hesitantly, still not sure what continued to draw her here. She told herself that it was about needing someone to watch her back while she cleared out a nest of vampires, and Spike was the most likely candidate. That wasn’t the whole truth though. Buffy was struggling with what had happened between the two of them, with how it had gotten so out of control. She had no idea of what she felt about him or for him, no understanding of what had happened to bring them both to the place they stood now, and without that, she couldn’t move on. She hoped that, somehow, she could at least figure out what she was supposed to feel for him.

           

Her fist struck the door twice; she felt uncomfortable walking in without knocking first. She knew she probably should have waited until later. It was early enough in the afternoon that he was most likely still asleep, but she had been at the school going over some files, and she thought she could just stop in briefly. When she received no answer, Buffy pushed the door open slowly, stepping inside and letting her eyes adjust to the dimness of the interior. She heard the whisper of feet scuffing against stone, and his voice called out, “Watch the light!”

           

Taking it as an invitation and not a rebuff, she shut the door behind her. “Spike, I just wanted to…” Her voice trailed off uncertainly. He was pacing the center of the room agitatedly, moving his hands in odd gestures that the Slayer couldn’t quite place. It was almost as if he were having a conversation with himself. “Spike?” she called again.

           

He didn’t even look at her, just kept pacing, and she moved to intercept him, not knowing what was going on, but not really liking the idea of a crazy vampire either. She reached out to him, but he backed away skittishly, his eyes darting from her face, to the floor, to the room and back again. “Don’t touch. You’ll get lost. You almost got lost last time. Couldn’t find you.”

           

Buffy frowned. “Spike, it’s me. Buffy. Are you okay?”

           

He shook his head. “The voices are too loud. They’re drowning me out. They’re drowning you out. Can’t stop it this time. Sorry.”

           

She didn’t know what to do, or what to say. “Spike, you have to snap out of it now.” When he didn’t respond, she tried a different tack. “What voices?”

           

“People who hated me, and they should. Oh, yes, they should. They should hate me and fear me because I’ve come for them. And I keep coming, and I keep coming, and I can’t stop it. I can’t make it stop, because it’s me, and it’s done.” He ran a trembling hand through his already-disheveled hair. “But it’s done. That’s what she told me. It’s done and I can’t undo it, so I can’t go back.”

           

Buffy was having a hard time following his thought process, and was about to try and reach out again when she heard the door squeak open behind her. She whirled to see who it was, at first only making out a shadow in the doorway, but then recognizing Rachel as she stepped into the room and shut the door. “Buffy?” she asked. “What—” Her voice broke off mid-sentence as she spotted the vampire pacing. She dropped her pack where she stood and moved toward them. “How long has he been like this?” she asked, her tone brusque and businesslike.

           

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t know. I just got here, and he was—doing this.” She gestured towards Spike who had resumed his pacing.

           

Rachel nodded. “All right. Give me a minute, let me see if I can get him out of this.” She moved right in front of him and held both hands out. “Spike? Come on, it’s me.”

           

He looked at her, his gaze still unfocused. “Rachel? I’m trying, but it’s not working.”

           

“I know,” she replied. “Let me try to help you.”

           

“You’ll get lost,” he protested.

           

She took his hands in hers firmly, ignoring his warning. “Just focus on me. Look at me,” she warned as he pulled his eyes away. “Remember what I taught you. Think of that safe place and stay there. That’s all. Come on, let me help you.” It seemed to be working for a moment. He calmed and regained a little of the mental footing he’d lost.

           

Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. “There’s blood here too,” he whimpered and pulled away from Rachel, beginning to pace again. “I can’t. I can’t stop it. Make it stop!” His voice rose in a crescendo and fell brokenly. Rachel turned to Buffy, her eyes hard and jaw tight.

           

“Can you knock him out?” she asked.

           

The Slayer looked confused. “Sure, but—”

           

“Don’t argue, just hit him.” When the other girl remained frozen, Rachel’s voice snapped hard. “If you want to help him, you need to hurt him. Just knock him out, and make it quick.”

           

The tone in her voice didn’t leave time for thinking. Buffy’s fist shot out to connect squarely with Spike’s chin. While the vampire could take a beating, it wasn’t hard to knock him out if you knew where to hit and how hard. And, he wasn’t trying to defend himself, which usually made a difference. He was out like a light, and Buffy was beginning to realize what she’d just done. “Do you want to tell me why I just hit him?” she asked angrily.

           

Rachel looked at him, regret in her eyes. “Help me get him off the floor.” When Buffy didn’t move, the girl looked at her pleadingly. “I promise I’ll explain. Just help me get him up, and we can go outside and talk.”

           

Buffy grabbed Spike’s shoulders, and Rachel grabbed his feet, and together they hauled him up on the slab where they used to lay dead bodies. Buffy supposed that it was still serving its purpose. Once he was as comfortable as they could make him, Rachel followed the Slayer out the door, and watched as Buffy studied her, arms crossed over her chest. “Okay, on with the explaining.”

           

“Spike’s flashbacks are getting worse,” Rachel said quietly. “It’s getting harder and harder to break into them, but if I don’t he’s going to go crazy. So, I thought if I could just break the cycle it would help, but he can’t control them, and apparently the relaxation techniques I taught him aren’t working. I thought we’d try something new this time around.”

           

Buffy stared at her. “His flashbacks? Why on earth…” She stopped, uncertain, remembering. Rachel had said she read emotions, or souls, but Spike didn’t have a soul. Her mind flew back to the other night, and the look on Rachel’s face when she’d looked at Xander. She’d said she knew him better than anyone in the room, and Buffy finally pulled it all together. There was no way she could have known him that well, have read him as she’d said, if he was still a _soulless_ vampire. “He got his soul?”

           

Rachel nodded. “Apparently, he’s basically reliving everything he’s ever done, only from the perspective of a man, not a demon. His actions look a lot different from the other side, and he’s having trouble dealing.”

           

Stealing a glance back at the crypt, Buffy processed what she’d just said. “Will he be okay?”  
           

Rachel shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I think I’ll be able to get him through the worst of it, but I’m not sure. I’ve never done this before.”

           

Buffy came to sit down next to her. “But this time? Will he wake up okay?”

           

She nodded. “He always has before.”

           

A silence fell between the two of them. Buffy was the first to break it. “Did you tell him anything, about what you saw?” Buffy wasn’t real free with emotional sharing, and she wasn’t sure she liked the fact that the person sitting next to her knew everything she was feeling at the moment, possibly knew more about what she felt than her closest friends.

           

“I don’t tell what I see, Buffy. Ever. What went on in that room, what I felt, no one will know. If you want me to, I’ll tell you what I saw, but I won’t tell anyone else, unless you specifically ask me to. Think of me as your own personal priest,” Rachel said, smiling at her.

           

Buffy returned her smile. “Thanks. Do me a favor, and don’t tell me what you saw,” she said. “That’s something I need to find out for myself.”

           

“Fair enough,” Rachel said. She checked her watch and made a face. “I have a tutoring appointment that I’m going to be late for if I don’t leave now. Would you stay with him until he wakes up?”

           

Buffy nodded. “Sure, but what do I do if he gets a little freaky on me?”

           

Rachel disappeared inside for a minute and came back with her pack and a slip of paper with a phone number on it. “I always have my cell on me. Anytime you need me, just let me know. If he starts getting a little fuzzy on you, see if you can get him to think about something else.”

           

“Like what?” Buffy asked skeptically.

           

“Anything else,” Rachel said. “Your call.” With that piece of advice, she left. Buffy went back inside the crypt to keep an eye on Spike, as she’d promised. She glanced at the vampire who lay passed out on the stone slab, a bruise already forming along the right side of his face. Buffy winced, feeling a slight sense of guilt. As little as she might like Spike, she didn’t like hitting him when he was so obviously in pain already.

           

Buffy sighed, realizing that it could be a while before he came around. She looked around for something to do, spotting a book lying beside his chair, its cover showing marks of wear. _Great Expectations_ by Charles Dickens. Buffy put it back down. In her life, there were two things: slaying demons and attempting to have a normal existence. That meant, precisely, that if the book didn’t have something to do with killing things, being the slayer, or the next apocalypse, it didn’t get read. Whatever free time she might have was devoted to activities like hanging with her friends, spending quality time with her sister, going to the Bronze, and anything else that might come up. It wasn’t that she didn’t like school, just that she was more of a hands-on kind of girl, and her hands were usually on weapons. She flipped the TV on to find nothing but soaps and infomercials so she turned it off and picked up the book again, deciding that it might be marginally more interesting.

           

After about ten pages, Buffy had decided that Charles Dickens was an acquired taste, sort of like caviar or those chocolate covered ants Xander had given to her as a joke. Luckily for her, Spike started to stir, and Buffy put the book down to check on him. As she stood, Spike pushed himself up from the hard stone and stared at her warily. “Are you alright?” she asked.

           

He nodded. “I’m fine. What are you still doing here?”

           

“Rachel asked me to stay, make sure you weren’t going to go all wiggy again. Sorry about the whole hitting thing.” The look of regret in her eyes was real enough to make Spike relax just a little.

           

“’Sall right,” he replied. “I was about ready to lose it again.” He pushed himself off into a standing position and went over to his fridge. “So what brings you here?” His posture, his tone of voice, everything seemed to scream that she wasn’t welcome.

           

Buffy felt a little awkward. She wasn’t used to having Spike tell her, even if not in so many words, that he didn’t want her around. Usually, it was the exact opposite, with him desiring her presence and she in a hurry to get away. “I came by to see if you wanted to patrol with me tonight. There’s a nest of vamps I need to clear out.”

           

A silence fell between the two of them as Spike considered her request. “What do you want from me, Slayer?”

           

Feeling a hint of annoyance, Buffy repeated herself, this time more sharply. “I told you. I need your help clearing out a nest of vampires. I need someone to watch my back.”

           

“Is that right?” he asked, turning to face her, his voice harsh with emotion. “What is it with you, Buffy? We’re mortal enemies, except you want my help. Then we’re best friends, except it was our little secret. And we were lovers, but that was just a thing to you. No, not even that.” Buffy opened her mouth to interrupt, but Spike cut her off.

           

“You told me you wanted me off the planet and out of your life, but you want me to help you save the bleeding world. You say you’ll never trust me, and then you want me to protect your little sis, and you know I will. So which is it? What is it you really want from me? Because I’m willing to admit that you have a perfect right to treat me like dirt after what I did to you, but I won’t play those games anymore. I can’t. I don’t have the strength.” His blue eyes bored into hers, shining with fury and unshed tears.

           

“Do you think two people can ever go backwards?” she asked quietly. When he stared at her, speechless, not understanding where she was going with her line of questioning, she continued. “Do you think we could ever start over?”

           

“Why would you want to?” he questioned hoarsely.

           

“I can’t afford to lose friends or allies, Spike. I’ve already lost too many already.” Buffy tried to find the words for what she was feeling. “Even if we weren’t friends, we were at least on the same side. Maybe we were even comfortable with each other at some point. And—besides, you’ve changed.”

           

He was speechless. “Even if we could go back, I don’t have the strength to play games with you, Buffy. I’m too busy trying to hold onto what’s left of my sanity.”

           

“How did you do it?” she asked. He gave her a blank face, and she elaborated. “How did you get your soul back?”

           

“Figured that one out, did you?” Spike shook his head. “I already told Red. I went to Africa. I came back with a soul.” He ran one hand over tired eyes. “Do you really want to do this again? Not to be rude, luv, but I’m not sure I’d survive round two.”

           

Buffy looked at him, recognizing the man who stood in front of her. She’d caught glimpses of what he might have been from time to time, but always there had been Spike, the vampire. Now, she saw him more completely. “Yes, I do. No games this time, Spike. Just what we’ve got. And you can start by telling me how long you’ve been fighting this.”

           

He glanced at her, and his eyes went back to the fridge. He opened the door and took out a packet of blood, then grabbed a goblet and a packet of something, and started mixing his dinner. “Do you mind?” he asked, his tone such that Buffy wasn’t sure if he cared what she thought or not.

           

“No, that’s fine.” She watched him. “What’s going on, Spike? From what Rachel said, this wasn’t a new thing for you.”

           

“Worried, Slayer?” he asked, his tone slightly bitter. “Afraid I’ll go crazy and bite someone?”

           

Buffy shook her head. She didn’t believe that he would if he could, and according to the vampire the chip was still working. He was silent for a long while, until finally he spoke, all the while avoiding her eyes. “I was angry after what had happened. Angry at you, at the government for putting that chip in my head, at the whole bloody world. But I was brassed off at myself mostly. Knew what I was doing was wrong while I was doing it, and it took you slamming me up against a wall to bring me to my bloody senses.” Spike shook his head, as if to clear it of the memories. “I thought—I realized that I could, and probably would hurt you again if I stuck around, and I knew this story, about this Big Bad who could help me out.

           

“Sought him out, found him halfway across the globe. He told me I was a ponce, I was pathetic, I was a sorry excuse for a demon, which was true enough. But I passed his trials, and he gave me what I wanted. It was a fair exchange.” He took a deep draught of blood as Buffy watched him in growing realization and horror.

           

“You got your soul back for me?” she asked incredulously.

           

Spike looked at her in surprise. “Who else, pet? I love you.”

           

“What kind of trials?” she asked, not wanting to address his statement.

           

The vampire gave a short laugh. “You don’t want to know.” At the look on her face, he repeated, “No, you really don’t. Look, Buffy, suffice it to say that I proved my manhood sufficiently to get what I wanted. End of story.”

           

“And the flashbacks?” she asked.

           

Spike shook his head. “I lost about half the summer, I think. Don’t really remember how I got back here. I’d be all right one minute and off my nut the next, I guess. It’s been better since, well, since Rachel started helping me out.”

           

Buffy nodded. “Are you okay to patrol? Because if you’re not, that’s fine—”

           

He cut her off. “I’ll be okay. If I lose it, it’s after the fight, not before.” Spike gave her a long, searching look. “Why does it even matter to you?” he asked, his voice quiet.

           

She knew she owed him an answer, but couldn’t give him one. It shouldn’t matter to her. She should be perfectly content to leave him alone, go her own way, and let him go his. There was something deeply unsettling about the thought of walking away, however, and she wasn’t prepared for that. “I’ll come back later, maybe around ten or so.”

           

Spike accepted her evasion for what it was, understanding that she owed him nothing. “I’ll be ready then, luv.”

 

# October 11

 

“Would you do me a favor?” Rachel asked in the quiet of a Friday night. Spike lounged in his chair, watching the flickering images cross the screen, and Rachel lay on her stomach on the stone slab. She’d brought in a blanket and pillow from her own house, and could usually be found studying by candlelight in the evening hours. Spike found himself at home most nights anymore, at least until Rachel was in bed. Buffy came by every night, maybe every other night to ask him to patrol with her, but his roommate was normally asleep by then. They kept such different hours, it was amazing they saw one another at all, but over the last few weeks, Spike found himself going out of his way to spend time with her. Her presence soothed him. When he was with her, he found himself believing that he was almost normal.

           

Spike glanced from the TV set to look at her. “Depends on the favor, duchess, but yeah.”

           

“Would you teach me how to fight?” she asked innocently.

           

The vampire’s eyebrows shot up, and he turned to face her fully. “Now why would a nice girl like you want to learn how to fight?”

           

She wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, and flushed a bit. “I talked to my dad today, and he said I could move into the house in another couple weeks. Anyway, you aren’t going to be able to walk me home every night, so I thought it would be a good idea if I learned, you know, how to take care of myself.”

           

Spike felt his senses prick up. It wasn’t just that he could sense the fact that she was keeping something from him, though that was part of it, but he had learned to read her just as well as she read him. Rachel might have been good at keeping everyone else at a distance, but not him. “Even the Slayer works up a little sweat taking four vampires, luv,” Spike said, referring to their first meeting. “And it would take a lot longer than two weeks to turn you into the Slayer, if that were even possible. Besides, I’ll still be walking you home. Now, you want to tell me what the real problem is?” He got up and sat down next to her on the slab, noting how she still continued to look away from him.

           

“You’re going to be busy with Buffy,” she protested. “You might not have time to meet me every night. If I just knew a few more tricks, I could handle myself.”

           

Spike was listening to the underlying emotion in her tone. “Again, you probably could handle one or two by yourself already, and you’re not walking home alone.” Gently, he took her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “Now what the bloody hell are you not telling me, Rachel?”

           

Despite her best efforts, tears formed in her eyes. “It’s just—you’re doing so much better, and I think that’s great, but you won’t need me anymore once I move out.”

           

Spike frowned. He wasn’t terribly surprised that this was coming up. It was true. He was doing better; he hadn’t had a flashback since Buffy had literally knocked him out of it, though the nightmares were something else altogether. But Rachel had been abandoned by just about everyone else, and while he might be an idiot when it came to other people, he knew the girl in front of him like the back of his own hand. “So you’re saying we aren’t friends?” he asked.

           

She frowned indignantly. “Of course we’re friends.”

           

“Then what makes you think I’d just abandon you? You must really think I’m a sodding wanker if you think you moving would change things that much,” he put some affront into his tone, knowing that she would feel bad for hurting his feelings.

           

“No! You’re great, Spike, I just thought…” she trailed off, then narrowed her eyes. “You’re trying to make me feel better,” she accused.

           

“Did it work?” he asked with a smirk.

           

With an exasperated sigh, she rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I guess I’m just going to miss this. You know, just hanging together.”

           

Spike didn’t let himself think about how much he was going to miss the kid. She was like sunshine to him, just much better for his health. “Me too,” he looked over at her. She’d sat up next to him, and he could tell that she was still thinking. “You want to tell me what the real reason is that you asked me to teach you how to fight now?”

           

Rachel made a face. “Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” It was a rhetorical question, and Spike let it go, waiting for the answer. “I feel something coming. It’s like a gut feeling, like I get when I see somebody for the first time. I think I’m going to be needed, and I want to be ready.”

           

“Not to be rude, but we’ve got fighters,” Spike said.

           

She shook her head stubbornly. “No, I mean you’re going to need what I can do, and I want to be able to take care of myself when it comes down to it. It’s going to get messy, Spike. That’s all I can tell for sure.”

           

The vampire studied her for a long moment. He didn’t pretend to understand that he knew how Rachel’s mind or her gift worked. She was one of the most logical people he knew, but at the same time, that logic was driven by instinct. In a strange way, she was a lot like Dru, who had had a strange gift as well. She had often told him things that he had simply accepted, because he knew they were true, even though it made no sense. “All right, luv,” he said. “Like I said, I can’t make you the Slayer in a couple weeks, but I can teach you to fight dirty. Maybe that’ll keep you alive if you ever get yourself into a situation.” He didn’t say it, but he had no intention of her ever needing the skills he taught her.

           

Rachel smiled at him. “Thank you,” she replied.

           

“Right then,” he said, pushing himself off the slab. “You ready?”

           

“Now?” she asked.

           

“No time like the present, luv.”

 

~~~~~ 

 

Buffy and Dawn walked side by side in silence, the teen still sulking. “I still don’t see why we have to take him,” Dawn muttered, breaking the silence.

           

Buffy sighed. They’d been over this a half dozen times already, and while Buffy understood Dawn’s reluctance to forgive Spike for what he’d done, it was still mildly annoying. She was the one he’d hurt, she was the one who was supposed to hate him, but she didn’t, and she was trying to move past that. If she could get over it, so could everyone else. It might have been a selfish thought, but she was tired of defending her actions where it concerned Spike. About the only time her friends seemed willing to accept their relationship was when it concerned her heaping abuse on him, and that was part of what got them into trouble in the first place. “We’re taking him because I want him along, and because a few Grishnalk demons aren’t something you take lightly.”

           

“But after what he did to you—” Dawn protested.

           

Buffy stopped, looking her in the eye. “I told you what happened, Dawnie,” she said quietly. “Besides, he’s changed. He has a soul now.”

           

“Angel had a soul,” Dawn muttered. She still remembered what Angel had done to their family, to her sister, and Buffy had forgiven him too. No matter how nice Angel was as Angel, she couldn’t wipe Angelus out of her mind.

           

Buffy reached out and took her hand. “Angel could lose his soul. Spike can’t. From what I understand, it’s pretty much a permanent addition, and he’s trying really hard to make things right with me. So don’t give him too hard of a time, understand?”

           

Dawn nodded. She supposed, more than anything else, she was confused about how to feel about Spike. She had loved him, whatever anyone said about his being evil, but you weren’t supposed to love somebody who tried to rape your sister. And yet, she’d missed him when he’d been gone, and no matter how much she wanted to hate him, she couldn’t. Buffy had given her about half the story over the summer, and she’d told Dawn the rest when he’d first reappeared in town. Dawn realized that most of her confusion stemmed from the fact that Spike was a good person who had done something really rotten. Good people didn’t do things like that, just like Willow should never have tried to kill her, and Anya should never have gone back to the dark side. Despite being thousands of years old, Dawn was still an ordinary teenager, and she was just beginning to understand how complicated people could be.

           

Buffy grabbed her arm, interrupting her thoughts. Dawn froze, and then heard the sounds of a fight, including labored breathing and scuffling noises. Buffy held a finger to her lips for silence, and then motioned for Dawn to follow her. As they drew nearer to the bushes in Spike’s cemetery, they could make out two figures that were circling each other warily.

           

“If you don’t keep that bloody arm up, you’re going to wind up dead,” Spike warned his opponent.

           

“If you don’t stop your yapping, you’re going to wind up with a stake in your chest,” Rachel replied. She moved to where Buffy and Dawn could make out her features, sweat and dirt streaked, with a scratch running down one cheek. Dawn made a movement, but Buffy held her back, shaking her head.

           

Spike leaped at the girl with a growl. Buffy could tell that he wasn’t moving quite as quickly as he usually did, but his fist snapped out quickly enough. Apparently, Rachel had taken his advice to heart, because she blocked the fist with one arm, though she didn’t see Spike’s leg, which came up to catch her in the side, throwing her a couple of feet. “I told you to watch your bloody left side, duchess. If I were a starving vampire you’d be the first course,” he growled, the half-annoyed look on his face turning to one of concern when the figure on the ground didn’t move. “Duchess?” he called, moving closer. When he still received no answer, he moved to her side. “Rachel? Are you alright?”

           

He didn’t get the last question all the way out of his mouth before, in a maneuver almost too fast to follow, Rachel’s legs came around to sweep Spike’s out from underneath him. He’d barely hit the ground before she was sitting on top of him, a carrot hovering, point down, over his heart. “You were saying?” she asked sweetly.

           

Spike opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when he felt Buffy’s presence. “Slayer,” he said as she and Dawn stepped out of the shadows. Rachel scrambled off his chest, and Spike picked himself off the ground.

           

“A carrot?” Buffy asked incredulously.

           

The two looked at each other and shrugged. “Spike didn’t want to use a real stake, you know, just in case, and I had a couple carrots. They’re sorta stake-shaped.” Buffy opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped as she remembered that she and Angel used baguettes at times.

           

“Nice moves,” she complimented.

           

Rachel shrugged, flushing. “It’s nothing special. Spike’s killed me about a hundred times tonight already.”

           

“She’s doing good, though,” the vampire interjected. “I wasn’t expectin’ that last move. Caught me flat-footed.” He looked at Buffy, and Rachel could sense his interest and excitement. “Take it you need me tonight.” Rachel took the stab of envy she felt and buried it deep. She knew better than anyone that feelings could not be forced. You felt what you felt, and that was the end of the story. But knowing that didn’t change the fact that she wished someone would look at her like that, and it didn’t change the fact that chances were no one ever would.

           

“A bunch of Grishnalk demons are causing trouble in the old Catholic cemetery,” Buffy said. “If you’re not too busy, we could use your help.”

           

“We were just about done,” Rachel said, before Spike could reply. “I should finish my homework before I go to bed anyway.” She looked at the other three, sensing them, tasting their essences, and smiling, she wished them goodnight and began walking back to the crypt. Once there, Rachel cursed her own weakness. “Stupid girl,” she muttered to herself. “Starting to fall in love with a stupid vampire.” She got inside the crypt before the tears started to fall, and she wiped them away impatiently. Life just sucked sometimes.

 

~~~~~ 

 

Spike sat on the front porch next to Buffy. She’d sent the bit inside, but had told him he could

stay if he wanted. So he’d lit a cigarette and let the smoke curl up lazily, watching the stars. He felt her come back outside, and watched from the corner of his eye as she sat down next to him, though not close. He understood her awkwardness in letting him inside her house. Had, in fact, assumed that the invitation had been rescinded, though he’d been in no mood to try and find out by following her in the door. They’d had a good night; there had been no barbs flung between the two of them, they’d killed the demons, and no one had gotten hurt. There was something to be said for an evening like that.

           

“I’ve really appreciated your help on patrol, Spike,” Buffy said softly. She watched as he glanced over at her, surprised by both the tone of her voice and her words. “Dawn’s really coming along, but—” she stopped.

           

“It’s the least I can do,” he said softly. The silence stretched out between the two of them, and Buffy wondered when it was that they had lost the fine art of being quiet together. She wondered for the millionth time what had happened between the two of them, and realized that she had no answers.

           

“You and Rachel seem really good together,” Buffy finally said. “I like her.”

           

He took a drag, deepening the orange glow of his cigarette tip. “She’s a likable girl.” A thoughtful look shaded his eyes. “Don’t think I could have survived without her help.”

           

Buffy looked over at him, unsure of what she should say, what she could say. “You’ve been good for her.” Spike looked at her in surprise. “You’re taking care of her. From what Willow’s told me, and from what I gathered, she needed a friend.”

           

The vampire shrugged uncomfortably. “She’s done a lot more for me. How do you know I haven’t just kept her around for what she can do for me?”

           

“Because I know you better than that,” Buffy replied. An almost shy smile lit Spike’s lips as he looked at her, and the next silence was one that could be found only between two old friends.

 

# October 31

 

Spike looked at the address on the slip of paper once again and checked it against the number on the outside of the small house. He hadn’t realized that the rental place Rachel had talked about would be an actual house. One storied, it bore a definite resemblance to a box, but the light blue siding seemed almost new, and the lawn was well cared for. It seemed to be the right place, and he shifted Rachel’s black duffel in his hand before ringing the doorbell. The door swung open to bring him face to face with a man he didn’t recognize, but who had Rachel’s blue-gray eyes. They stared at one another for a moment before the stranger stepped to one side motioning him through the door. “You must be William,” he said. “Come on in. Rachel’s in the bedroom.”

           

Spike hesitated, both at his given name and at the invitation. There were rules as to who could issue an invitation, and it usually had to be someone who lived in the house. Even though Rachel’s father was the owner, he wasn’t the resident, and Spike didn’t want to look like an idiot when he bumped up against an invisible barrier. “William, you’re right on time.” Rachel appeared behind her father, giving him a smile that said she knew exactly what was going on in his head. “Come on in.”

           

He stepped across the threshold gratefully, glad he didn’t have to explain that little rule to her father, who was probably in the dark about a few things. “William, this is my dad, Kevin. Dad, this is William. He was kind enough to offer to bring my bag over tonight.”

           

Kevin extended his hand. “William, it’s nice to meet you. Rachel’s told me how much you’ve done for her. It’s definitely a weight off my mind to know someone’s been looking out for her.”

           

Spike hid a rude snort. If the man had been that worried about his only kid, he’d have told his bint of a girlfriend to sod off. “Looking after her’s been my pleasure, Mr. Evans. She’s a good friend.”

           

Rachel flushed a bit in pleasure, and her father smiled a little, almost painfully it seemed. “I’m sure she is,” he murmured, and then looked over at his daughter. He looked embarrassed as he met her eyes. “Rachel, I hate to run like this, but Stephanie and I made plans for dinner tonight. I’m sorry.”

           

Spike could sense his tension and her disappointment, and he knew there was a bit more to it than her father “having to run.” “I thought—”

           

“I know,” Kevin said, unable to meet her eyes. “But it’s our six month anniversary, and you how she is about this kind of thing. I promise, I’ll make it up to you some other time.”

           

Rachel quickly hid the disappointment that washed over her features. “Sure, that’s fine. I’ll come by the job site sometime. We’ll have lunch.”

           

He gave her a relieved smile. “That sounds fine. Again, William, it was nice to meet you.”

           

Spike watched him as he grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair and left. He looked around the small house, which seemed to come furnished. The couch and loveseat in the small living room had seen better days, as had the small table and chairs that sat in what might pass for a dining room if one used a bit of imagination. The walls were white, the carpet a neutral shade; it reminded him depressingly of a hotel room. “Seems like a nice enough place,” he said.

           

She smiled at him, having seen the look on his face. “It’ll be better once I decorate.” Something flashed across her face, and she looked at him. “Did you have any plans for tonight? Because, I thought we could maybe just watch some movies or something. Dad and I were supposed to go to dinner together, but, well, it didn’t work out.”

           

He frowned slightly, knowing that she wasn’t telling him something. “Sure, that would be fine. Nothing ever happens on Halloween anyway.”

           

“Let me just finish getting my bed in order. Make yourself at home,” she invited. Spike watched her disappear into one of the bedrooms off to the other side of the living room.

           

“You told your dad my name was William?” he called out after her. He really wasn’t upset about it, but it had been a bit disconcerting to hear it bandied about that casually.

           

“Well, the way I figured it, it’s probably one of a father’s worst nightmares to hear that his daughter is living with a guy, any guy, even if they are just friends. But it’s probably even worse to find out that your daughter is living with an older guy, who looks like he escaped from a punk band, and whose name is Spike. I thought I’d spare him that last.” Rachel’s voice was light, and Spike didn’t take offense. He figured if he were a father, he wouldn’t want his daughter with a guy named Spike either.

           

“I don’t look like I escaped from a punk band,” he protested, idly wandering around the kitchen, noting where everything was.

           

He heard her laugh. “I like the way you look, but to my father, you look like a punk. Trust me.”

           

Spike smirked, about to reply, when something on the table caught his eye. He picked it up, only to see a hundred dollar bill float down from inside the card. Picking up the bill, he flipped the card over to the front and read the flowing script. It was something particularly poncy, some sentimental wash about love and memories that made him snort. He opened the card and realized with a start that it was a birthday card and was addressed to Rachel and signed by her father. The vampire’s eyes narrowed, and he stuck the bill back inside and set the card down. Wandering over to her door, he watched as she put the finishing touches on the double bed that stood in the middle of the room. She looked up when she’d finished. “What movie do you want to start with?” The expectant look on her face faded when she saw the way he was looking at her. “What’s wrong, Spike?”

           

“When were you going to tell me?” he asked quietly.

           

“Tell you what?” she faltered.

           

“Oh, maybe about the fact that it’s your birthday.” He regarded her seriously, and her eyes fell to the floor. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

           

“It’s not that big of a deal, really.”

           

Spike walked over to her and chucked her under the chin. “It’s your birthday, duchess. You should be celebrating.”

           

Rachel gave him a smile that wasn’t really a smile at all. “Doesn’t seem to be worth celebrating, does it?”

           

“Forget your wanker of a pop,” Spike said fiercely. “It’s your birthday, which means we’re celebrating. Get your dancing clothes on.”

           

She looked at him curiously, seeming a little happier already. “Where are we going?”

           

“The Bronze.”

           

Spike waited for her out in the living room, shaking his head when he remembered the stunned look on her face as she’d told him she’d never been there before. He wished he’d known so he could have gotten her something, though judging from the look on her face when he’d said they were going out, that was enough for her. “Do I look okay?” she asked from behind him, and when he turned around, he about dropped his jaw. She wore a pair of tight black pants and a blue sweater that matched her eyes and showed off her figure. She’d pulled her curly red-blonde hair back in a loose ponytail. Spike hadn’t really thought of her as attractive before. Cute maybe. Cute kid, cute roommate, but this was a different story altogether.

           

He said nothing and her face fell a little, until he walked over to her and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. “My advice is don’t wear that outfit around those idiot wankers you tutor. You’ll never get anything done.”

           

She gave him a smile that almost blinded him with its beauty. “Thank you, William,” she said softly.

           

“No one’s called me that in a long time,” he said softly, caught by the tenderness in her eyes.

           

“Do you know what ‘William’ means?” she asked. When he shook his head, unsure of where she was going, she smiled. “It means ‘protector.’ No one’s ever protected me before,” she said softly. She searched his face with her eyes, though Spike wasn’t sure if she’d found what she looked for there. “Come on. I suddenly feel like celebrating.”

 

~~~~~ 

 

Buffy sat with Willow and Xander at the Bronze, suddenly aware of a strange sense of déjà vu.

How many times had the three of them sat together like this in the early days of their friendship? Over the past years, they had added members to their number, and lost others, but always it seemed to end like this: the three of them together.

           

“So where’s the Dawnster, Buffy? I thought you said she was coming tonight?” Xander asked, looking around the crowded room.

           

Buffy rolled her eyes slightly. “Oh, she’s here, but she has a date. I am therefore forbidden from looking at her, talking to her, or acknowledging her existence in any way, shape, or form. And I’m supposed to tell you guys, same goes for you.”

           

Willow smiled. “Dawnie has a date? That’s great.” The redhead made a face. “Is that what you two were fighting over before we left?”

           

The Slayer sighed. “She came down in an outfit that was way too, well you know, so I told her she wasn’t getting out of the house dressed like that unless it was over my dead body. She then said she’d be happy to help with that, and it was none of my business.”

           

Xander’s eyebrows rose. “So who won?”

           

Buffy gave a classic little shrug. “We compromised. She changed her shirt, and got to wear one of mine, though I have a feeling she was after that all along.”

           

“Teenagers can be sneaky,” Willow agreed. “When I remember what you used to tell your mom to throw her off track about the whole slaying thing and Angel…” she trailed off when she saw the look on Buffy’s face. “Not that I would ever tell Dawn anything about being sneaky, nor would I encourage sneakiness in any form,” she added hastily.

           

Buffy sighed. “I know. It probably helps that I wasn’t a model teen. I can usually tell when Dawn’s trying to get around me for something, but at the same time, I wish mom were here. Half the time when we get into these arguments, she ends up throwing that at me. ‘Well, you’re not my mother’ or some variation of the same.”

           

Willow gave her a sympathetic look. They all missed Joyce. She’d been a surrogate mother to all of the Scooby gang, even Spike. Willow watched as Buffy got a strange look on her face. “Are you okay?” she asked.

           

The Slayer blinked, and then looked over at her friend, obviously distracted. “I’m fine. I just thought I saw someone I knew.” She looked over toward the bar and stood. “I think I’m going to get another drink. Anyone want?” Willow and Xander both shook their heads and watched their friend make her way to the bar.

           

“Does she seem okay to you?” Xander asked.

           

Willow watch Buffy walk away. “She’s fine. This is the first night she’s been able to relax in a while, though. She probably just needs a little more time to get unwind-y.”

           

Buffy wove her way through the crowd of people, looking for that distinctive flash of blonde hair she was sure she’d seen. Spike had pretty much stayed away from anywhere she might have been over the past couple months, letting her seek him out. It had been a strange situation, she in the position of pursuer instead of pursued. And yet, Buffy was beginning to remember what had first attracted her to his company in the days and weeks after she’d clawed herself out of her grave.

 

The qualities that had drawn her to him then were even more obvious now. The gentleness she’d seen glimpses of, his attitude of quiet attention, his assumption that he would work just as hard to save the world as she did, it all came rushing back to her. And yet, even though she was certainly growing to care for him as a person, Buffy felt none of what she had always associated with love. Sometimes she wondered if the reason was that her feelings for Angel were still so strong. Every time she saw him, it brought back the pain of their parting, and she wondered if she would ever be able to give her heart completely to another person.

 

She paid for a Coke at the bar and scanned the tables she could see, finally spotting the vampire at a table. He was leaning in, talking quietly to Rachel, who had her chin propped on one hand, the look in her eyes one Buffy recognized easily. It was the same look she’d had on her face every time she thought about Angel as a love struck sixteen-year-old, before everything went to hell. ‘And life continues to get more complicated,’ she thought.

 

Buffy hesitated before making her way over to their table. It might have been better to just leave them alone, but at the same time, she wanted to be friendly. “Hey, Spike,” she said as she approached their table. “Rachel.”

 

Buffy had to give the other girl credit. She actually looked happy to see Buffy, though with her special talent, she had to know how Spike felt about the Slayer. “Hi, Buffy. How’s it going?”

 

“You taking the evening off, Slayer?” Spike asked.

 

Buffy noticed that he made no offer of help if she hadn’t taken the night off. “Well, you know how those crazy vampires are on Halloween. They usually stay inside.”

 

Rachel looked interested, and raised her eyebrows at Spike. “Is that right? I told you we could stay in this evening.”

 

He shrugged casually. “Well, Halloween is one thing, birthdays something else altogether. No fun staying in on your birthday.”

 

Buffy looked over at Rachel in surprise. “It’s your birthday today?”

 

“Yeah, go figure. I was actually born at midnight, just a minute shy of the 30th.” Rachel gave a sheepish grin. “When I was little, I thought they gave out candy to celebrate my birthday.”

 

Spike laughed. “Not a bad way to celebrate if you’ve a sweet tooth.”

 

“What can I say? I was five.” Rachel looked over at Buffy. “Are you here by yourself? ‘Cause if you are, you’re welcome to join us.”

 

Buffy shook her head. “No, actually, Xander and Willow are here with me. Oh, and Dawn’s here somewhere, but she’s on a date, so we’re forbidden from acknowledging her presence at all.”

 

“Of course,” Spike said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Though I assume she wouldn’t mind an old friend of the family saying hello.”

 

“Stop it, Spike,” Rachel said with a shake of her head. “Let the girl have an evening with her date before you or Buffy get a chance to scare him off.”

 

Buffy and Spike shared an amused look; they had both thought of exactly the same thing. “Wouldn’t hurt to say hi,” he said innocently.

 

“It might,” Rachel said darkly. “And if I know teens, Dawn probably wouldn’t speak to you again.”

 

Buffy gave him a chagrined look. “That’s pretty much what she told me, and she said same goes for everyone else. I have a feeling that would include you if she knew you were here.”

 

Spike shrugged. “Fine. I’ll let the bit have her fun.”

 

“Atta boy,” Rachel said, grinning.

 

Buffy found herself grinning as well. The more she saw of Rachel, the more she liked her. Even though the girl was a couple years younger than the Slayer, she seemed older than her age.

 

“I should probably get back to Xander and Willow before they send out a search party,” Buffy said, almost regretfully. She paused, then asked, “Do you two want to join us?”

 

Rachel and Spike looked at each other, seeming to communicate without words. Finally Spike spoke. “Up to you, luv. You’re the birthday girl.”

 

“If you’re sure your friends won’t mind,” she said.

 

“Well, Willow won’t mind,” Buffy said philosophically, “and I’m sure Xander’ll get over it. Eventually.” She looked Spike in the eye, letting him know that she was well aware of the potential for disaster, and was willing to deal with her friends’ reactions.

 

He nodded and rose, picking up his drink and motioning Buffy and Rachel to go ahead. Buffy could hear Rachel whispering to the vampire. “If you get uncomfortable, we can leave, Spike. I don’t mind.”

 

“Thanks, but I don’t get my feelings hurt easily.”

 

“Maybe, but you’re my friend, which means I don’t want your feelings hurt at all.” Buffy glanced back and watched as they shared a look of understanding, and she thought she knew what they meant. As Spike had said to Willow, they were “freaks of a feather,” neither fully human nor fully something else. Really, just as she was in a way. The two of them were probably as close to her in their understanding of being on the outside as any of her friends, and Buffy suddenly understood why they felt so bonded to one another, and why it might be possible for her to feel bonded to them.

 

Buffy walked up to her friends’ table and announced cheerfully, “Hey, guys. Look who I found.”

 

Willow and Xander looked up to see Spike and Rachel looking at them just a bit warily, and Xander opened his mouth to say something just as Buffy stepped on his toes. Hard. He stifled a yelp and decided to rephrase his comment. “Hey, what brings you two out this evening?”

 

“Just a little celebration,” Spike replied smoothly, deciding that if Harris could be reasonably civil, he could as well.

 

Willow looked a bit confused. “I thought vampires didn’t celebrate Halloween. Giles said they think it’s kinda in bad taste.”

 

“So it is, Red, but when a birthday falls on Halloween, it’s perfectly acceptable to celebrate, as long as you aren’t celebrating the holiday itself.” Spike’s smooth, brash mask was firmly in place, and Rachel shot him an amused look out of the corner of her eye that plainly said he might be fooling everyone else, but he wasn’t fooling her.

 

Xander looked from Spike to Rachel to Buffy, thoroughly confused. “And, uh, whose birthday?”

 

Rachel raised her hand. “Guilty,” she said. “Though technically, I was only born on Halloween by one minute.”

 

Willow looked at her, startled. “You were born on midnight, on Halloween? That’s so cool.”

 

Rachel smiled shyly. “Well, it was kind of cool. Not only did I get presents, but I usually got a bagful of candy.”

 

After that, things seemed to get a little less awkward. Spike’s “I couldn’t care less about you lot” attitude was still evident, but he stayed mostly quiet and in the background. While Xander was trying very hard to ignore him in a valiant attempt to be civil, both Willow and Buffy noticed the change. He was quieter, more watchful, though still enough like the Spike they used to know that you would have to be watching to catch the difference. After about an hour or so, Rachel yawned hugely.

 

“I’m really sorry guys, but I haven’t adjusted to this whole night owl thing yet,” she smiled at Spike as though it were a private joke, “though I really am trying.”

 

The vampire stood smoothly and helped her with her jacket. “I’ll walk you home.” He looked at Buffy and the others. “’Night, then.”

 

There was a chorus of “good-nights” and “happy birthdays” as they left, and the three watched them go thoughtfully. “You know, I could almost get to like Spike if he could keep his mouth shut all the time,” Xander mused.

           

Buffy smiled at him sweetly. “I’m sure he’d probably say the same for you,” she teased.

           

Xander looked affronted until he realized she was giving him a hard time. “Be nice, Buffy. I’m not the Evil Undead, remember?”

           

Buffy gave him a strange look. “You know, Xander, I don’t think he is anymore either.”

**November 17**

 

“Bloody hell,” Spike shouted as the demon’s sword cut across his arm. A quick backhand with his left caught it off guard, and he followed up with a swing of his ax, watching its head hit the ground with a satisfying thump. He didn’t even hear the one behind him, the one that picked him up and threw him against a very solid tombstone. He felt his shoulder go pop as he hit the ground and let out a roar of pain. He rolled, stretched out his hand, and grabbed the ax just as the beast came up on him. The thing fell right on top of it and Spike gave a grunt of satisfaction.

           

Snarling, he got up, looking around to see where the Slayer was at, just in time to see the last of the red-skinned demons clock her over the head. Buffy dropped to the ground like a stone. “Buffy!” he called, but she didn’t stir, and the thing was getting ready to finish her off.

 

Spike shot across the twenty feet separating them like a bullet out of a gun. He caught the thing’s ax with his own and brought it around for the killing blow, only to get caught in the side, its blade biting deep. Spike swallowed his cry of pain and kept swinging, his ax lodging in its chest. He waited for a moment, satisfied it wasn’t moving and went to her side.

 

“Slayer? Buffy?”

 

She didn’t move, and he started to get worried. “Come on, luv. You need to wake up so you can get home, because there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to carry you all that way.”

           

Still no movement, and Spike did everything you were supposed to do with an unconscious person. He checked her pulse, chafed her wrists, talked to her, but after about twenty minutes she figured he’d better find a way to either get her home or get her to the hospital, because she wasn’t moving. Again, there was just no way in hell he was going to be able to carry her, not with his shoulder dislocated and bleeding like a stuck pig besides. He got an idea, and quickly checked her pockets, coming up with her cell phone.

           

He wasn’t much for technology when you got right down to it. Oh, sure, vampires were all about change, adaptation; you had to be if you were going to live as long as he had. And there were some gadgets he had embraced, like the telly, or electricity, or even the regular phone. But he hadn’t gotten around to cell phones just yet. Rachel had finally gotten him to sit down and learn to use hers the other day.

 

When he’d asked her why she was so insistent, she’d simply said, “What if there’s an emergency?”

 

That had been right before she’d moved into her new place, so he’d humored her, but he was beginning to wonder if those “feelings” she sometimes got weren’t just another way to say “predictions.”

           

Spike scrolled down through the list of stored numbers, finding the one he wanted near the end. Luckily Buffy’s phone wasn’t that much different than Rachel’s, and he easily called the number, getting a very grumpy, “What do you want?” on the other end.

           

“Buffy’s been hurt. You need to come get her,” Spike said brusquely. He gave directions and hung up, replacing the small phone where he’d found it. Now to pop his shoulder back into place. He winced, but he’d done it before. Finding a nice mausoleum not too far from where Buffy lay, he lined himself up with the doorjamb and rammed his shoulder against it. The vampire felt it shift into place just as the world grayed out. He held onto the door for support and waited for it to pass. As soon as he felt like he could make it, he went back to Buffy to wait for help to arrive.

           

Xander showed up about ten minutes later. “What happened?” he asked curtly.

           

“A bunch of Xantha demons ambushed us,” Spike explained. “We got most of them, but the last one managed to knock the Slayer over the head. Didn’t think I’d manage to get her home on my own.”

           

Xander spared a glance for the vampire and managed a grimace of sympathy. Blood dripped down his hand from the gash on his arm and stained his shirt. He was obviously favoring one shoulder, and he had a bruise forming around one eye. Not to mention the cut down one cheek. Buffy, on the other hand, despite the bump on the head, looked none the worse for wear. Xander’s first priority was to get her home, and yet he knew Spike probably wouldn’t be able to make it back to his crypt before the sun came up. It wasn’t too far away, but he wasn’t in any shape to be walking.

           

At that moment, the two men’s eyes met, and while they might have come to realize they could be civil to one another without the world coming to an end, they weren’t going to be friends. Which meant that Xander wasn’t going to offer help unless Spike asked, and Spike was not going to ask for help, unless Xander offered. They both knew it, they both accepted it, and Spike drew himself up to show he was fine. “I’ll make sure Buffy gets home safely,” Xander said.

 

Spike nodded and watched Xander walk away, Buffy in his arms.

           

Xander had reached in his car and driven away before Spike slumped to the ground. He knew his pride might have just cost him his life if he didn’t make it to shelter before daybreak, but he hadn’t been willing to bend. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up with sheer willpower, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

           

Perhaps it was because he was concentrating so hard on walking that he didn’t realize where he was walking to, so when he finally looked up he saw Rachel’s small house in front of him. He hadn’t actually been inside since her birthday. Oh, sure, he’d walked her home, made sure she had an escort when she needed one, but he didn’t say much and left her at her door. She’d asked him what was wrong at first, continually, even though he knew she was well aware of how he was feeling. But she had wanted him to say it, and after a week or so, she’d given up asking.

           

The fact was since she’d moved into her new place he hadn’t had a solid three hours of sleep. And while he hadn’t had any flashbacks, the nightmares woke him up and kept him up all day long, then all through the night as well. The real reason he had taken the brunt of the fighting was that his reflexes were seriously off; even vampires had to sleep sometime.

 

Rachel would have known exactly what was wrong after spending any time at all in his company, which was why he’d kept their conversations short and had avoided talking with her for the most part. She would have wanted to help him, and he didn’t want her to feel obligated. Spike knew that he could have shown up at Rachel’s at any point in time and she would have gladly chased the dreams away, but he hated to be weak. He hated to think that he was using her and her friendship for his own gain.

           

Now it seemed he had no choice but to go to her for help. Sunrise was less than an hour away, and he was swaying on his feet. There was no way he was going to make it back to his crypt at this point, so he walked up to her door.

           

It swung open before he could knock, and she stood there in front of him in her faded sweat pants and an old t-shirt, the same she’d worn when sleeping in his bed. She said nothing, simply slipped underneath his good arm, the one that hadn’t been dislocated, and wrapped one slender arm around him. “Come on,” she murmured. “I’ve gotcha.”

           

“The blood—” he began, noticing that both of his hands and his side were covered in it.

           

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got this old family recipe that takes out any kind of stain.” Rachel walked him to her bathroom and eased him down onto the toilet. “Don’t move.”

           

Spike leaned back, every taut muscle relaxing. Rachel’s presence always seemed to have that effect on him. “Don’t think I could, duchess.”

           

“So how badly was Buffy hurt?” she called from the other room.

 

Spike blinked in surprise. “How’d you know?”

 

“Well, for one, I can just about taste the worry on you, and two, there’s no way she’d let you walk over here like that if she were actually awake. You might have easily passed out and become Spike the Crisp.”

 

The vampire winced as he remembered the long walk over here and the several times he’d just about passed out on someone’s lawn. “She got a bump on the head, but I think she’ll be fine.”

 

She re-entered the bathroom a couple minutes later, a large pair of scissors and a first-aid kit in hand. Spike eyed the scissors doubtfully. “What are those for?”

           

She smiled at him. “What’s the matter, don’t you trust me?” At his still-suspicious look, she said, “There’s no way I’m going to get your shirt off over your head, which means I’m going to have to cut it off.”

           

“But it’s my favorite one,” he protested, though weakly.

           

Rachel made a face. “It looks the same as every other shirt you wear,” she pointed out. “It’s perfectly replaceable. Unless you really want to be exercising that shoulder right about now…”

           

Spike shook his head, and she continued, cutting carefully through the thin cotton, the blade brushing up against his skin. Gently, she eased the shirt off, pulling it carefully away from the wound in his side and arm, jostling his shoulder as little as possible. He wondered idly how long it had been since someone had touched him like this, with nothing more than care in their hands, not seeking anything more than to give comfort. Rachel filled the sink with water, checking the temperature with her fingertips, taking a washcloth and running it over the cut on his cheek, the laceration on his arm, and ever so gently over the wound in his side. Wiping the blood away, she dressed them with gauze pads and tape as Spike watched her through half-closed eyes, flinching every so often as she hit a particularly painful area. “Sorry,” she murmured. “Can’t do much for the shoulder, I’m afraid, but I should probably tape your ribs. I think a couple are broken.”

           

“They’ll heal.”

           

She looked into his eyes. “I know, but the sound of bone scraping on bone always annoys me.” Chuckling at the look on his face in response to her graphic description, she said, “Just humor me.”

           

He lifted his arms as high as he could get them, which wasn’t very far. She had been right about the shoulder. It would heal, of course, and probably faster than the rest of the mess, but until then he wouldn’t have much in the way of range-of-motion. He winced as she wrapped the gauze tight around his middle, and though still sore, he had to admit that his side felt better now that she’d gotten him taped up. “Thanks, luv.”

           

Rachel gave him a smile that was somehow sad. “It was my pleasure. You don’t have to come around just when you need help, you know,” she said, gently teasing.

           

Guilt swam into his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t even know how I got here. I—”

           

She put one hand to his lips to silence him. “I know, Spike. I’m glad you came. I wish you had come sooner. It must be weeks since you slept.”

           

He shook his head. “I didn’t want you to think that was the only reason I wanted to see you. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to help me, luv. Maybe I deserve the nightmares. They remind me of who I am.”

           

“You didn’t want me to feel obligated to you? After you walk me home nearly every night of the week?” She stared at him, beginning to look annoyed. “What, do you think I keep you around as a personal bodyguard, that you don’t mean anything to me?”

           

Spike was startled by her words and the tone. “No! Of course not. I just—” When he broke off, unable to continue, unable to explain, she reached up to touch the side of his face. He knew what she was doing, and he let her. If she could figure out his jumbled mess of a soul, let her.

           

“You thought you weren’t worthy of my help,” she finished for him, and sighed. “Spike, I told you when I first met you, you have a good soul, and that alone would make you a person worth helping. But I want to help you, just like you keep insisting that you want to walk me home. I don’t know how to get it through your thick head, but I like spending time with you, and if that requires helping you get a decent night’s sleep, then so be it.”

           

Spike shook his head. There was so much he had to atone for. Did trying to do the right thing count when you got something out of it yourself? Could anyone care for something like him? He heard Rachel mutter something under her breath and leave the small room. A few seconds later she was back, helping him up. “Come on,” she said, obviously having given up on convincing him of anything for the moment.

           

Spike, a bit dazed from pain and loss of blood, started to reach for the remains of his shirt. “I should go,” he muttered.

           

Rachel let loose a sigh of exasperation. “And how are you going to get home with about fifteen minutes to spare before the sun rises?” When he didn’t answer, she helped him up and walked him to the spare bedroom. The room itself was dark, an opaque shade covering the window, with no chance of a stray sunbeam leaking through. The bed was turned down invitingly, and Rachel sat him down on the bed and unlaced his worn boots. “You can sleep here,” she said, helping him to ease underneath the covers. “The sun won’t bother you, and neither will the nightmares.”

           

Spike looked at her, and for a long moment Rachel could see the boy he had been. “Promise?” he asked, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.

           

“Of course,” Rachel sat on the edge of his bed, stroking his hand, watching the lines ease from his face as she blocked the pain. The nightmares took a bit more work, and in the end she made a closer connection to him than she had expected, giving him a small piece of herself to guard against the nightmares. “Sleep, William. There’s no monster to find you here.”

 

~~~~~ 

 

Buffy woke with a groan. Her head felt like it had been split right down the middle and hastily

put back together again. “You’re among the living,” a cheerful voice said.

           

Buffy struggled to sit up, one hand to her head to prevent anything from falling out. “I’m not sure it would hurt this much if I were dead,” she muttered.

           

Willow handed her a glass of water and a few aspirin. “Well, I come bearing drugs, so you can be happy to see me.”

           

“I don’t think I’d be happy to see anybody right now. At least, not until my head stops exploding.” She leaned back against the pillow her friend quickly propped behind her. “What exactly happened? And how did I get home?”

           

Willow grimaced. “Xander brought you in around 3:30 or so. Apparently Spike called him from your cell phone and told him to come pick you up. We were debating on taking you to the hospital, but you seemed to be okay, just all knocked out and everything, so we just let you sleep.”

           

“Sleep is good,” Buffy agreed, and then her eyes widened. “Dammit. Spike. He was hurt pretty bad. Did Xander say anything about him?”

           

Willow hesitated. When she’d asked where Spike was, Xander had simply said he was walking back to his crypt, but nothing about whether he’d been hurt. She had asked if he was all right, and all Xander would say was that he didn’t seem to want any help, which could have meant anything at all knowing the both of them. “Well, he said Spike didn’t want any help, but anything about him being hurt.”

           

“Is my cell around here somewhere?” Buffy asked.

           

Willow looked through her coat pockets and came up with the phone. “Here it is, but why?”

           

Buffy shook her head. “Rachel told me to let her know if I ever needed help with Spike, and I think this qualifies. I’d like someone to at least check and see if he made it back to his crypt in one piece.” Willow didn’t argue, and Buffy quickly found Rachel’s number in her memory. The other line rang once before the other girl answered.

           

“Rachel? This is Buffy.” Buffy waited for her acknowledgement, and then asked, “Could you do me a huge favor? Spike got hurt last night and went back to his place on his own. Do you think you could check on him for me?”

           

Rachel’s voice on the other end was hesitant. “Um, actually, he came here last night. How are you feeling?”

           

“Fine,” Buffy replied, then amended her statement. “Actually, to be honest, my head feels like it’s about ready to come off, but that’ll pass. Spike’s really okay though?”

           

Though Rachel’s tone was light, Buffy could hear the concern in her voice. “He was pretty battered, but nothing close to his heart.” She paused, and began hesitantly. “Look, Buffy, I know it might not be my place, but Spike is my friend. I don’t know how you got home last night, but I do know that he walked over here, and that he probably made it by luck alone. Next time something happens on patrol, you might want to tell your friends that they can bring him to my place even if they don’t want him at yours.”

           

The words stung, but Buffy understood the feeling behind them. Whatever he might be to the rest of them, Rachel and the vampire were close, and to lose him through carelessness or callousness would hurt her badly. “I’ll let them know not to leave him behind next time, no matter what the circumstances,” she promised.

           

“Thanks. I’m going to try to keep him here today, and hopefully for another 24 hours after that. I’m not worried about him healing or anything, but he hasn’t been sleeping. I’d like to make sure he’s got a couple full days under his belt before I let him go.”

           

Buffy felt a twinge of guilt. She hadn’t even really noticed how tired he’d been out on patrol, though as she looked back she knew he wasn’t looking great. She’d put it down to being kind of broody from the whole soul thing, but it seemed like there was more to it than that. “I think that would be a good idea,” she agreed. “I’d like to talk to him tonight, though, if you don’t mind.”

           

“No, come on over around 7 or so. I think he’ll be up by then. I have a tutoring session later, but you’re welcome to use my place until whenever.” Rachel’s tone was subdued, but she seemed a little more cheerful now that she had gotten some things off her chest.

           

“Thanks, Rachel. I’ll see you later.” Buffy hung up the phone with an odd feeling somewhere between jealousy and relief.

 

She was jealous of Spike and Rachel’s closeness, but at the same time she was relieved. She still wasn’t sure what her feelings for him were, and while she knew he was still in love with her, she was glad he wasn’t pursuing her as hard as he had been over the last year or more. He seemed more intent on staying in the background until she needed him, and she had to wonder if she had Rachel to thank for that. Things around the Hellmouth were heating up, and the last thing she needed to worry about was a lovesick vampire on the brink of insanity. At least someone was taking care of him, giving her the space she needed to figure this whole thing out.

 

~~~~~

           

_“What do you want?” she asked him._

_He leaned against her, letting her stroke his head, his hair. She wore the same scent of lavender she had when he was a child. “I don’t know. Forgiveness, love, a good night’s sleep. Buffy.” He might have been embarrassed by the last, but there was no embarrassment in this place, only peace._

_“Would it help if I told you I love you?” she asked._

_William shook his head. “You don’t know what I’ve done. Love, forgiveness, it doesn’t exist for me. Not now.”_

_“I know what you are and what you have done, and I’m still here,” she pointed out. “Love is love. Forgiveness is always possible.”_

_“Even for me?” he asked, feeling as though the answer to his question was the most important of his life._

_“You’re a good man, William.” He looked at her strangely then. Though she wore his mother’s face and her scent, there was something different about her._

_“Who are you?”_

           

She smiled and kissed him on the forehead. “Wake up, William, and be well.”

 

Spike woke in the bedroom in Rachel’s house. He was still in pain, but the dream, real or not, had reached a part of him long buried. He had dreamed of her before, of a time in his own life, but this had been totally different. A part of him wanted to say that it _was_ real, that he had smelled the scent of lavender she had always carried with her, felt her hand, her kiss. And another part of him wanted to deny it, for how could what she had said be true after all he had done, all he’d been responsible for?

           

Hauling himself out of bed, he caught sight of a folded towel and a change of clothes. “Not real subtle, are we, duchess?” he murmured with a laugh, though he couldn’t blame her. He could definitely stand to get cleaned up. Spike made his way into the bathroom and slowly began removing the bandages she’d put on that morning. The cut on his arm seemed to be healing nicely, but the one on his side was going to take more time. He stepped into the shower, letting the hot water roll over him, pounding bruised flesh and muscle. Spike thanked his lucky stars, if he had any, that Rachel was not such a girly-girl that her soap and shampoo was going to leave him smelling like flowers. When he stepped out, he could hear Rachel’s voice from the other side of the door.

           

“Spike? Why don’t you leave the shirt off until I get a chance to check you over?” she called.

           

“Alright,” he agreed. She’d apparently gone to his crypt for a fresh change of clothes for him, and he was touched that she would go to the trouble. He came out of the bathroom to find her waiting for him at the table in the kitchen.

           

“Have a seat,” she said. Rachel looked him over, her fingers deft and quick, careful not to hurt him. “I’m going to bandage your side and ribs again,” she said finally. “I’m pretty sure you aren’t going to die, but it might make you a little more comfortable.” She smiled at him teasingly. “How do you feel?”

           

“Good,” he said, surprising himself. “I had a dream…” he trailed off, unwilling to voice its contents for fear it would fade with the telling. He looked at her as she taped his ribs. “You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

           

“Who? Me?” she asked, innocently. “All I did was make sure your nightmares stayed away.” She grabbed the red shirt he’d draped over a chair. She’d intentionally picked one that buttoned up the front so he didn’t have to worry about his shoulder. Helping him get it on, she watched as he winced as the sore tendons in his shoulder stretched. “Oh, almost forgot,” she said, moving into the kitchen and pulling a mug out of the microwave. “Drink up, big guy.”

           

Spike was surprised to see the blood. “You got this for me?”

           

“You think I’d drink that?” She smiled. “You need to get your strength back. As I was about to say before I remembered your meal, I want you to stay here for at least another day.” When it looked as though he might protest, she held up a hand. “I want you to get another full day’s sleep before you go back to your crypt. And, I want you to promise me that the next time it gets that bad, you’ll come to me. I hate seeing you miserable when I know I could do something if you let me.”

           

Spike could tell that she was serious, and when she got that glint in her eye it was hard to argue. “I promise.”

           

“Good, because I have a present for you,” she announced, going into her room. Spike drained the mug in a gulp and watch curiously as she came back into the living room. And handed him a key.

           

The significance eluded him for a moment, until he realized that it bore a resemblance to a house key, and he looked at her in shock. “What—” he managed, speechless.

           

“It’s a key, stupid,” she explained, a smile hovering on her lips.

           

He shook his head. “Rachel—”

           

“I know you can get into this house anytime you feel like it with an invitation, which you have. But I also know that because you’re thickheaded, you aren’t really going to feel welcome unless I hit you over the head with it. So here it is. A key to my house.” Rachel looked at him expectantly, waiting for his reaction.

           

She was right, of course. Spike could break in to just about anywhere as long as he had an invitation, but no one had ever given him a key to their house, and then told him to come anytime. Wanted him to come anytime. “I don’t know what to say,” he finally managed.

           

“That’s a first,” she smirked. “I missed you. I want to spend time with you, so I’m going to keep bugging you until you tell me that you don’t want to spend time with me.”

           

He looked at her in surprise, realizing that his staying away had inadvertently hurt her feelings. “Well, things have certainly been quieter around my place,” he said nonchalantly, trying to get some of his equilibrium back. “Have to have the telly on all day just to break the silence.”

           

She grinned at him. “You still watching that stupid soap opera?”

           

“ _Passions_ is not stupid. It’s the best of the lot.”

           

“You know, for a smart guy and someone who’s supposed to be so tough, you really are a marshmallow,” Rachel laughed, pulling the cookies out of the oven. She gave silent thanks for ready-to-bake cookie dough.

           

“I am not a—ow,” he broke off as he stood up, having moved too fast. He was about to protest some more when Rachel stuck a cookie in his mouth.

           

“Shut up while you’re ahead,” she advised. While he was busy chewing, she added, “By the way, Buffy called. She wanted me to check up on you.”

           

“She was worried about me?” he asked, the hope in his voice making Rachel wince, glad her back was to him so he couldn’t see her reaction.

           

She finished putting the rest of the cookies on a rack and dropped the pan in the sink. “I think she was concerned you might not have made it home. She also said she wanted to talk to you and would come over here around 7. That okay?”

           

“Sure, fine,” he said, trying to sound as though he didn’t care and failing miserably. “You don’t mind, though, do you?” 

           

She gave him a funny look, and something in her eyes sparked Spike’s attention. “Of course not. Why would I mind?”

           

He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. He wasn’t sure what he had seen, and decided to let it go. He glanced over at the clock. It was almost four. “D’you have that book we were reading? Never got to finish it.”

           

“ _Great Expectations_? Sure. Would you—” she paused, flushing. “Would you mind reading out loud?” she asked shyly.

           

“’Course not, but I thought you’d finished it a while back,” he said.

           

“I did, it’s just, I like it when you read Dickens. With the accent and all, it sounds…” she trailed off, her face red.

           

“Well, it would sound better, being read by yours truly. Always did read well,” he said, intentionally puffing up his chest to make her laugh.

           

It worked. “Thanks. I always wanted to be read to by an English vampire,” Rachel joked.

           

Spike laid on her couch, stretched out, Rachel sitting on the floor next to him, her head back and her eyes closed. His voice carried on from where they had left off, following Pip and all his adventures in London and his mad, hopeless love for the beautiful Estella. When the last word had been read, they sat there in silence for a long while. “I wish Pip could have gotten what he wanted,” Rachel murmured, her eyes still closed. “Do you think he could be happy without her?”

           

“Don’t know, duchess. I suppose he might have been someday. But you always want what you can’t have,” Spike murmured, finding himself connecting to Pip on more than one level.

           

Whatever reply Rachel might have made was cut off by the doorbell. “That must be Buffy,” she said, looking at the clock. She opened the door, smiling when she saw Buffy. “Is the head feeling better?” Rachel asked sympathetically as the other woman entered.

           

Buffy shrugged. “It’s not as bad as it was, and the gang offered to patrol for me tonight.”

           

Spike had stood to greet her. “Slayer. You all right?”

           

“I’m good. And you?”

           

“I’ll survive.”

           

The silence in the room was so thick you could choke on it, the feelings so intense Rachel found herself barely able to breathe. Love, the hopeless kind, beat at her barriers. Confusion and anger, fear and attraction all warred for top billing. She took a deep breath and focused inward, centering herself in the moment. Her mother had warned her what would happen when she began using her gift more extensively. Not only had she grown stronger, but she’d become more sensitive to the emotions of those around her, and it would be impossible to go back. Like opening a floodgate, she could not return to her shell. When she opened her eyes, she found both Spike and Buffy looking at her with concern. She managed a smile to reassure them. “I’m fine,” she said, choosing not to explain any further.

           

They both nodded, accepting her statement at face value, suddenly all business. “I wanted to talk to both of you,” Buffy said, her tone brusque.

           

Rachel and Spike glanced at each other and nodded. “What’s up?” Rachel asked for both of them.

           

“Last night was bad,” she said, looking directly at Spike. “And things are starting to heat up a little more. There’ve been more demons, and more vampire activity than there’s been for a long time. I think the Hellmouth might be getting a little rumbly again, and I’m not sure the best tactic is for Spike and I to patrol together.”

           

Spike immediately protested. “Come on, Slayer. You know you need someone to watch your back. If I hadn’t been there last night, you wouldn’t be sitting there right now.”

           

“I know what you did,” Buffy replied quietly, “and I’m not arguing with the fact that I probably should have someone with me. But I can’t cover all the ground I need to. I’ve asked Xander and Willow to start helping, and they’ve both agreed. Dawn’s going to be coming with me more often as well.”

           

Rachel hid a wince as she felt the kind of effect Buffy’s words were having on him, but she kept her mouth shut. This wasn’t any of her business. “What do you want from me?” he asked, confusion and anger written on his features.

           

Buffy flinched at his angry tone. “I think we should split up on patrol. Maybe not every night, but you’re the only one I won’t have to worry about being on your own.”

           

Emotions warred on Spike’s face, to be replaced by a look of resignation. “Whatever you say, Buffy,” he said tiredly.

           

Rachel interjected. “Spike is going to need someone to watch his back as well,” she pointed out. “He might be able to take care of himself, but it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else along.”

           

Spike looked as though he were about to protest when Buffy agreed. “You’re right, which is why I wanted to talk to you as well.” The Slayer knew what she was about to ask of her was unfair in the extreme. It was asking the other girl to get involved in a way she didn’t need to be, and it was asking her to risk her life.

           

The vampire’s blue eyes flashed. “Now, wait just a bleedin gminute, Buffy! Are you off your rocker? Rachel’s not the Slayer, and she’s not one of your Scoobies.”

           

“Shut up, Spike,” Rachel said calmly. “Buffy knows what she’s asking.” She looked over at the Slayer. “I’ll watch his back, and I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

           

Spike looked at Rachel angrily. “I’m not letting you get yourself killed.”

           

Rachel faced him, her face set. “There isn’t a vampire walking that could kill me,” she said quietly. “One touch and he’ll be running away screaming.”

           

Buffy had wondered. She knew Rachel’s gift had been used to help Spike, but she had been curious as to whether or not it could be used as a weapon. Apparently, Spike hadn’t thought about it, but realization dawned. “You can—”

           

“Project?” she asked. “Yeah, how else did you think I kept the nightmares away? The more I use it, the stronger I get, and the more ways I find to use it. I have to be in physical contact, but there’s no way a vampire will take a bite out of me.”

           

“And if one of those sodding demons claws you or uses a sword? What are you going to do if you don’t have contact?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

           

“Isn’t that the risk you take every night?” she asked softly. “It’s time that I joined the world, Spike. I’ve been hiding out for long enough. I have a gift that could help. I want to use it.”

           

Buffy looked at her with new respect. “I appreciate it,” she said, meeting Rachel’s eyes with understanding.

           

She nodded, a new knowledge shading her eyes, making her look ancient for a moment. “I should go. I have a student.” Rachel picked up her pack and looked over at Spike, who looked both angry and worried. “If you like, I wouldn’t mind someone to walk me home,” she said.

           

He looked at her and sighed. “I’ll meet you at the usual place.”

           

They watched her leave and faced one another squarely. “What is this about, Buffy?”

           

“I told you. Things are getting a little more active than I would like. I think it would be better if we split up.” Buffy was telling him the truth. Mostly.

           

“You keep doing this, Slayer,” he said. “You pull me closer and then you push me away. What do you want from me?” he asked again.

           

Her lips thinned. “I don’t want anything from you, Spike. You’re the one who wanted to help out. This is the best way for you to do so. If you’ve changed your mind, now’s the time to let me know.” Her tone challenged him.

           

Spike bit back an angry retort, and his shoulders slumped. Just when he thought things were getting better between the two of them, she pulled something like this. It was always one step forward and two steps back with them. “Do you even like me?” he asked. Their eyes met, a shared knowledge hanging between them, both remembering when he had asked that very same question.

           

“Yes,” she replied.

           

“Do you trust me?” he asked, looking as though he were about to cry.

           

She saw the pain in his eyes, and hated that she felt sorry for him. “I’m not sure I can,” she whispered, and left.

           

Spike let her go, sitting down on the couch and putting his head in his hands. He didn’t move until it was time to meet Rachel.

           

# November 22

 

“Don’t be angry, Spike.” Rachel had her hands shoved deep in her pockets, her shoulders hunched as they patrolled. The vampire had made it obvious that she didn’t need to come along if she had an early class or a test the next morning, but Rachel had pretty much ignored him.

 

Instead, she came out on patrol with him, helped him stake a few vamps, let him walk her home, and went to bed. If she’d hoped for bonding time, she would have been sorely disappointed, since about all Spike seemed to do was brood silently or make comments that her father would have called “smart ass.” On the up side, she’d managed to make a good show for herself when they’d encountered any trouble. Spike actually seemed a little happier with the situation. But that didn’t change the waves of anger she kept sensing from him.

           

“I’m not angry.”

           

“Don’t lie to me. You’ve been mad since last week.”

           

Spike glanced over at his companion, slightly annoyed. As much as he liked Rachel, there were times he wished he could actually hide his feelings, or at least lie about them without her knowing about it. She caught his annoyance and defended herself. “Face it, Spike. Every time you go all quiet one minute and then all wise-ass the next, I know you’re angry. I don’t even have to be a psychic.”

           

He sighed. “Fine. Let me rephrase that. I’m not angry with you, duchess.”

           

“Well, you could have fooled me from your behavior the past few nights.” Rachel wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. If she had to put up with his moods, she at least wanted to know what was going on with him. Call her crazy, but she cared.

           

Spike sighed again, some of the anger seeming to melt out of him as his face softened. “Been a bit of a wanker, haven’t I?” he asked. He looked around and seemed to make a decision. “Let’s call it a night then, pet. Don’t think we’ll see any more action.” Rachel stayed silent, sensing that he might open up to her.

           

After a minute, Spike said, “Guess I’m just brassed off at Buffy. Said she didn’t think she could trust me. Not that she doesn’t have her reasons, good ones, but I thought we’d moved past that, and then she drops that on me.”

           

“Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked hesitantly. “About what happened between the two of you, I mean.”

           

Spike cocked a scarred eyebrow, surprised. “I thought you knew already.”

           

She shrugged. “I can guess. You feel one way, she feels another, sometimes the math adds up, but then again, sometimes it doesn’t. I’d like to hear your side of the story before I make a judgment call anyway.”

           

“It’s not pretty,” he said softly.

           

“Are you afraid of what I’ll think of you after?” When he didn’t reply, she reached over and shyly took his hand. “Trust me.”

           

Spike looked into her eyes and felt safe. “With my life.” He made no move to drop her hand, and Rachel left it there, feeling warm despite the coolness of his skin. Then, haltingly, he told her all of it. Once he started, he found himself unable to stop. They say confession is good for the soul; Spike understood what it meant after that night. He didn’t spare himself, nor did he hide what Buffy had done to him. The physical and emotional abuse both of them had sustained and given, the way she’d used him, the ways he’d tried to get to her, and finally what he’d done to her in her bathroom.

           

By the time they’d finished, they had reached her house and were sitting on her front stoop. “So that’s why you went to Africa to get your soul?”

           

“Got it in one, pet.” Spike looked up at the sky. “Course, once I got it, I’d have been just as happy to have lost it again.”

           

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Rachel said quietly. “I have a feeling you were already well on your way to having a conscience and everything that goes along with it if you were willing to get your soul back in the first place.”

           

Spike gave her a mock glare. “You know, it’s really annoying when you tell me things I don’t know about myself.” She just grinned at him, and he shook his head. “Your turn now. I told you my deep dark terrible secret. Now it’s your turn.”

           

She stuck her tongue out at him. “I don’t have any deep, dark secrets.”

           

“Then tell me something you’ve never told anyone else, since we’re in the sharing mode tonight.” He looked at her with a smirk, but there was a certain vulnerability in his eyes, and Rachel knew that some of it was caused by the fact she seemed to know everything about him and he knew little about her. It gave her both power and control; Spike was asking her to make the playing field between them even. If she gave nothing up, their friendship might not end, but it would not obtain its full potential.      

           

“I don’t hate my father.”

           

Both his eyebrows went up. “I hate to disrupt this sentimental moment, luv, but that’s hardly deep or dark.”

           

She shook her head. “I feel like I should hate him though.” Spike sat silently as she turned to him. “Did I ever tell you that he hasn’t touched me since I was thirteen? Not a hug, not a kiss, not even a pat on the head. He’s scared to death that if he touches me I’ll feel something from him, something he doesn’t want me to know about. I don’t even have a clue what that could be.”

           

He had been here before, listening as someone he cared about poured out their heart to him. That time too he had known to stay silent, to simply wait out the storm. They were so much alike in so many ways, he thought. Buffy and Rachel. Both so strong, so willing to carry others’ burdens while still shouldering their own. He would have been Buffy’s rock, if she’d let him. He’d tried, and he’d hurt her. Turned out his words were a prophecy that would come back to bite him in his own arse. “You always hurt the one you love.” He could only hope that he wouldn’t hurt Rachel just as badly as he’d hurt Buffy.

           

“The thing is,” she began again, once she could talk past the knot in her throat. “The thing is, I know he loves me. And even though it might be easier just to make a clean break of it, I can’t because he loves me, and it would hurt him if I told him to leave me alone. If it hurts him, then it hurts me too.” She looked over at him, and not for the first time did he feel as though she were looking directly into his soul. “The thing is, Spike, we can’t help but hurt the people we love the most. We’re the most vulnerable to them, to their opinions, to their good will. Just as they are to ours. What we say, what we do, can make them invincible, or it can tear them to pieces.”

           

She held his eyes and then said very slowly and very deliberately, as though trying to carve the words in his mind. “What you did can’t be undone, just as what she did to you can’t be. The only thing you can do is to do just what you’re doing. Try to win back her trust, help her when she needs you, whatever it takes. But in the end, it comes down to her. She might never forgive you. She might never trust you again. Maybe she’ll never love you, but there’s nothing you can do about that part of it. You can’t change the way people feel; you can only change yourself and hope others see that and follow.”

           

Spike thought about what she’d said, and then asked slyly, “You ever thought about giving it a go as one of those bloody motivational speakers?”

           

Rachel opened her mouth to let loose a scathing retort, and then stopped when she saw his eyes, full of both humor and sympathy. “No, but I gave serious consideration to becoming a preacher,” she replied, smiling. “You’re really terrible, you know that?”

           

“That’s me, luv. The Big Bad himself, come to take over Sunnydale and then the world.”

           

Rachel giggled, then became serious again. “Just so you know, I’ll be at my dad’s for Thanksgiving. I don’t foresee a problem with patrolling, but you never really know.”

           

“That bint of a girlfriend going to be there?” he asked.

           

“With her glare on, I’m sure.”

           

Spike threw a casual arm around her shoulders. “You just let me know. I’d be happy to suck her dry for you, chip or no bloody chip.”

           

Rachel grinned. “What about the soul?”

           

“Don’t you know?” he asked. “Potential wicked step-mothers are on the list of acceptable entrees.”

 

# December 25

 

Spike had just finished playing Santa at Buffy’s when he slipped into Rachel’s little house, key in hand. There’d been no such luck at the Slayer’s house, of course. But he hadn’t been alive for more than a century and not learned how to get into just about anywhere, locked or no. He’d left his gifts for Dawn, Willow, and Buffy tucked under the tree, and then slipped back out again, silently thanking whatever it was that had allowed him to get in and out undetected. While he might be as good as they come, Buffy was the Slayer, one of the best who’d ever lived, which made the prospects of stealth a little more dicey.

           

He might have stayed at another point in time, but he had been none too sure of the welcome he’d receive if they found him sitting on the couch waiting for them all to rise and shine. Buffy had been her typical standoffish self lately. In the last few weeks, he’d seen her rarely, and the few times he had were strictly business. Get in, kill the demons, get out.

 

Rachel and Dawn had both been doing themselves proud, not panicking, getting in there, showing no fear, using whatever came to hand. Buffy was simply watching him, mostly from afar, and he knew she was trying to get her bearings. There were times he was so weighed down with the guilt of having taken the little left between them and smashing it, that he groaned with the almost-physical pain of it.

           

But if his relationship with the Slayer was even more on-again, off-again than usual, his friendship with Rachel was cemented in stone. If he thought about it, that night when he’d told her everything had deepened their relationship past anything he could remember having. Even Dru, though he’d been with her for a century or more, hadn’t known him as well as Rachel. And while he’d wager he knew Buffy almost as well as any of her friends, she had no idea who he was. At least, she hadn’t any clue as to who he was now.

           

Rachel, on the other hand, knew him better than he knew himself sometimes, and he was beginning to know her. He wouldn’t say their relationship was brother/sister in nature; there was definitely the possibility of something in between them. But he was still carrying a torch for Buffy, and he couldn’t see it going out any time soon. Chances were he’d still be pining away for her the day he was dust, and that was an end to matters.

           

Spike laid his short black jacket over the arm of the couch to let her know he was there, and then went back into the bedroom she called his. When he’d protested her calling it such, she’d pointed out practically, “Well, I didn’t get the shades for the window just for kicks. So it’s your room.” He stayed there now when he needed to, or when their late-night talks took them into the dawn, and she didn’t want him walking back to his place. It was the first time since he’d been a man that he’d stayed over at a woman’s house and not wanted to be in her bed, or she in his, but it didn’t strike him as odd. It was more natural than anything else.

           

Perhaps it was as she said. He wanted to protect her more than anything, Thanksgiving being a case in point. He’d gone over there after the sun had gone down, thinking he’d let himself in and wait for her. She had more channels on cable than he did, for one thing, and for another he thought she might need to see a friendly face. He hadn’t been far wrong, since she’d met him at the door, crying, and the way her eyes looked she hadn’t just started up.

           

Didn’t take him but two minutes to figure it out. Apparently, Stephanie had been particularly brassed off at Rachel for something, and since she’d been sitting right across from her at the table, she’d sent off all these little hate vibes through dinner and into dessert. From Rachel’s description, it was a little like having someone poke hot needles into you over the course of a few hours, and her not even able to say anything, since that would be bringing attention to her little gift, and her dear old dad couldn’t have that.

           

Spike had wanted to go over there and wring the bint’s neck, and then the wanker’s, but Rachel had assured him that it wasn’t necessary. What angered him most was that her father knew what she was capable of, and he was more than aware of how his girlfriend felt, but he’d sat Rachel right across the table from her anyway, as though completely oblivious to the effect it would have on her.

 

It had taken him the better part of an hour to get her calmed down, and then she’d insisted on going on patrol with him. “I’d really like to kill something,” had been her statement, so they’d hunted up some vamps, and he made sure she got a couple kills.

 

She’d seemed better after he’d walked her home, but about a week later, when she’d told him her dad was going to be out of town for Christmas and she’d be on her own, she had seemed more relieved than anything else. And while vampires weren’t traditionally big on Christmas, he didn’t have any plans, and Rachel didn’t want to be alone, so they decided to spend the day together.

           

Spike stripped off his shirt and pulled off his boots before lying down on the bed. He’d probably end up being awake all day long, so he figured he’d catch a few hours sleep before Rachel woke and the festivities started. As he always did when he was at her place, he slept deeply, with no nightmares to disturb him, waking several hours later to the smell of brewing coffee. He rose and pulled his shirt on, stepping out of his bedroom cautiously lest any of the blinds were open.

           

The soft glow of lamps met his eyes and he went out to greet Rachel in the kitchen. “Sweet dreams, love?” she asked with a smile. Spike grinned at her. He’d been noticing that she was picking up some of his slang.

           

“No dreams is more like it,” he replied. “Happy Christmas, Rachel.”

           

“Merry Christmas, Spike.” She gave him a funny look. “Are there any holidays vampires celebrate as a rule?”

           

He shrugged. “Every night’s a holiday of fun and games, as long as you get to eat and you don’t run into the sharp end of a stake.” At her slightly horrified expression, he smirked. “In other words, no.”

           

Rachel rolled her eyes. “And now that you have a soul?” she asked.

           

“The soul changes both everything and nothing. I’m still a vampire,” he pointed out. “But if Christmas is important to people I like, then it’s important to me. It’s all the same.”

           

She shook her head. “Coffee or the red stuff?” she asked, changing the subject and holding up a mug.

           

“Coffee’s fine. I ate earlier.”

           

She poured him a cup and handed it to him. “Wait a minute. Let me get your gifts.”

           

Spike set his cup down on the table and went to get his own gift for her, which was tucked safely into his jacket pocket. She came out with a couple of rectangular presents. “You first,” she said, handing them to him.

           

The vampire shrugged good-naturedly, not really minding being the first to open the gifts. He opened the first to find a leather-bound copy of _Great Expectations_. “You seemed to like it so much, I thought maybe you’d want your own copy.”

           

“Thanks. Don’t have a lot of books I carry around with me any more, but this is one I wouldn’t mind having.” Spike opened the next gift to a soft-cover, leather covered journal. He untied the rawhide thong holding it closed and flipped through the blank pages.

           

“It’s a traveler’s journal,” she explained.

           

Spike looked at her, puzzled, though not displeased. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

           

She looked away, her face disclosing her discomfort. “Maybe, but you’ve already been all over the world. Figure that makes you a traveler. And life’s a journey of its own.” Her face brightened a little. “Besides, you said you used to like to journal. I thought you might like to again.”

           

Spike looked down at both the book and the journal. In a way, Rachel was calling out of him all the things he had been when he was a man, and even though he still thought of William as a nancy-boy poof, he was beginning to remember that he had had his strengths as a man as well as his weaknesses.

           

“They’re great, luv,” he said, meaning it. “Open yours then.”

           

Rachel pulled the wrapping off the small box and opened it. She pulled the small gold locket out of the box and opened it. Gasping, she looked at him in amazement. “Where—”

           

“Went by the wanker’s house,” Spike explained. “Told him what I needed. He said he had an extra photo of your mum and he let me have it, seeing how it was going to you anyway.” He shifted, pleased she liked it but uncomfortable with the way she was looking at him, like he’d just walked on water or something. “I just thought you’d like the reminder of her, is all.”

           

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, slipping it on.

           

“Left the other side open for whoever else you wanted to hang onto,” Spike said. “Wasn’t sure what other picture you’d put in there.”

           

She beamed. “This is really great. I mean it.”

           

“Glad you like it. You know, me being such a smart chap and all, I figured I did okay.”

           

“If your head gets too big, I’m going to have to pop it, and then where will all those stunning brains be?” she asked.

           

“What are you talking about?” he asked, incredulously, a smirk firmly in place. “It’s not boasting if you tell the truth.”

           

She shook her head. “Why don’t you take your ego and go pick a movie? I picked up a few from the video place the other day.” He was about to leave when she surprised him by wrapping her arms around him. “Thanks.” Just as suddenly she released him. “I’m going to get into some different clothes,” she said pointing at her pajamas. “I’ll be right out.”

           

He stared after her. “Well,” he murmured, talking to himself. “I guess I did all right.”

 

~~~~~ 

 

“Come on, Buffy. It’s Christmas morning.” Dawn might be sixteen, but Christmas morning still held all the magic it had when she was little. At least in theory anyway, since she never _really_ was little. She shook her sister awake insistently. Buffy waved one hand at her lazily.

           

“It’s too early, Dawnie.”

           

Dawn heaved a frustrated sigh. “It’s nine. I’ve been waiting ages now. Come _on_ , I want to open presents.”

           

Buffy’s head emerged from the tangled mess of blankets. “All right, all right, I’m up. I’ll be down in just a minute.”

           

The excited teen threw a parting shot as she left. “Fine, but if you’re not downstairs in fifteen minutes, we’re going to start without you.”

           

Buffy hauled herself out of bed and threw on a robe, deciding she’d worry about getting into her street clothes later. Christmas morning was a perfect morning to lounge around in PJs. She came downstairs, and Willow met her with a cup of coffee. “Merry Christmas, Buffy.”

           

“Merry Christmas,” Buffy said, taking the mug with a sigh of thanks. “I am so not a morning person.”

           

Willow smiled, knowing her friend well. “Well, just give it a couple hours and then it won’t be morning anymore.”

           

Buffy smiled ruefully, but her eyes softened as she watched Dawn rummage under the tree for gifts. The next few minutes were spent in a frenzy of paper tearing and ribbons flying. “Thank you” and “oh, this is so cool” joined “ooh” and “ahh.” When the last gifts had been exchanged among the trio of girls, there were still three gifts remaining under the tree. “Dawn, who left those?” Buffy asked, puzzled by the unfamiliar paper.

           

Dawn shrugged and bent to retrieve the gifts, growing still as she saw the tags. Wordlessly, she handed Buffy the gift marked “Slayer,” Willow the gift labeled “Red,” and kept the one that said “Niblet” in bold, elegant handwriting. They all looked at each other, a bit uncomfortable. “Has Spike been over here recently, Buffy?” Willow asked uncertainly. She couldn’t believe that Buffy would just have him over without saying anything to them.

           

Buffy shook her head. “He must have dropped these off or something. Dawn?”

           

Her sister was still staring at the gift. “I haven’t seen him since we all went out on patrol together.” Curiosity taking over reluctance, Dawn pulled the paper off the gift. “A new journal!” she exclaimed. “I just finished the old one the other day.” She opened the cover and paused. The inscription was short and sweet. _To Niblet, From Spike._ Saying nothing, she turned to Willow. “What did you get?”

           

Willow opened the gift and her eyes widened. “It’s an amulet.” She peered at it closely. “It’s supposed to give the wearer peace of mind,” she said quietly, “especially in times of grief.”

           

They turned to look at Buffy, who tore the paper off her own present. “How the hell did he know?” Buffy asked, staring at the wooden stake. Her favorite stake, Mr. Pointy, had finally been laid to rest the other night after coming in contact with the blood of a demon. How was she supposed to know that its blood was acidic and especially dangerous to wooden stakes?

 

This one had been lovingly carved, the wooden grip wrapped for extra traction, since even the Slayer’s hands could get sweaty in the middle of a fight. It was perfect, and she just shook her head. She didn’t have a chance to say anything, though, since Xander took just that moment to appear through the front door.

           

“I come bearing gifts,” he announced. In the midst of greetings and hugs, Spike’s gifts were pushed to the back of Buffy’s mind, and she was instead left with the odd feeling of being just slightly off-balance for the rest of the day.

           

It was that feeling of wondering, of being off-balance that led her to his crypt after the sun had gone down. Awkwardly she stood in the empty room, wondering where he might be. “Buffy?” she heard him call from behind her. She turned to look at him. “What are you doing here?”

           

She swallowed. “I just came to say thank you for the stake. When did you manage to stick them under the tree?” she asked.

           

He glanced away, looking a little guilty. “I snuck in this morning and left them. Was supposed to spend the day with Rachel, and I didn’t want to bother you.”

           

Buffy hesitated, feeling something loosen inside of her. “You wouldn’t have been a bother, Spike.”

           

He turned to face her, a glimmering of hope on his pale face. “So you liked the stake then, pet?”

           

She rolled her eyes at his endearment. “Yeah. Mr. Pointy met his end the other night, so I needed a new one. Dawn and Willow both really liked their gifts too.”

           

He nodded. “Good. Overheard the bit telling Rachel she was going to have to get a new journal last time we were out on patrol. Figured I’d take care of it for her.”

           

Buffy felt unsure of herself in the silence that followed, neither one of them knowing what to say to the other after the last time they’d talked. “I don’t have a gift for you,” she admitted.

           

Spike shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting anything from you, luv. I didn’t give you a gift to get something back.”

           

“I know, but I feel like I should have something for you.” He shook his head, but she stopped him from speaking. “I thought I should tell you that I’m sorry for what I said the other night, about not being able to trust you.”

           

Spike couldn’t look at her. “Buffy, that’s my own fault. After what I did, I don’t have any right to ask you to trust me.”

           

“I think you do,” she replied. “There were two of us involved in that relationship, Spike. And we both hurt each other. That doesn’t excuse what you did, but I was responsible for how I treated you at least.”

           

“Buffy, you don’t have to—”

           

She interrupted him. “I wanted to tell you that I think I could trust you again. Maybe not right this minute, not totally, but I want to try. I want to be able to trust you again.”

           

Spike stared at her, the hope in his eyes like a beacon. “Buffy, you know how I feel about you. Much as I’ve tried to fight it, I’m still in love with you, and it’s not going away. I told you before, I won’t survive another round of this, and as much as I want what you’re offering right now, I need to know you’re not going to pull it away from me again.”

           

Buffy shook her head. “I know you’ve said I don’t owe you anything, but I think I do. I at least owe you a second chance. Just don’t go screwing it up.” She smiled at him to show she wasn’t really serious about that last.

           

“Alright, Slayer. I guess maybe I can give you a second chance too.” The familiar smirk was back on his lips, and Buffy realized that she had missed this, she had missed him. By cutting him out of her life as she had, she had hurt them both.

           

“Thanks, Spike.” She said it with a smile, but her eyes were serious, and they both realized that it was a new beginning.

 

# February 9

 

Spike put his stake through the heart of a portly vampire with a feeling of satisfaction and turned to look around. Rachel was spitting out a mouthful of vamp dust, Dawn was brushing herself off, and Buffy looked at him with a little smile. “Well, that was fun.”

           

Spike smiled and shook his head. That was the Slayer. She always did like a good fight. Suddenly a sound caught his enhanced senses and he froze and sniffed the air. “Slayer, do you hear that?”

           

Buffy paused and listened and her eyes widened. She turned to Dawn and Rachel, but Rachel was already moving. “There are too many of them, Spike,” she said. A second later her words proved prophetic as about a dozen nasty looking demons came running right for them.

           

Dawn looked over at her sister, fear making her voice squeak. “Buffy, what are we going to do?”

           

Buffy looked around desperately. A dozen large, well-armed demons required a bit more strategy than the usual hack, bash and stake. Spike grabbed her arm and pointed to a stone mausoleum. “That’ll give us some shelter anyway,” he suggested.

           

The Slayer didn’t think twice. She simply grabbed Dawn’s elbow. “Come on.” They managed to get inside and get the door closed just as the first of the demons reached them. Spike and Buffy braced themselves against the door. “We need to find another way out,” Buffy gasped as the door bucked behind her. “We aren’t going to be able to hold this for long.”

           

Rachel and Dawn both nodded and set out to find another exit. There was one large room and then a smaller room in the back, but the main area had one entrance: the door the demons were banging on. They were back a few seconds later after disappearing into the smaller room. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” Rachel said.

           

“Good news first please,” Buffy said, bracing herself anew after a fresh onslaught.

           

“Good news, there’s a window back there that’s big enough for all of us to fit through.” She hesitated and then said, “The bad news is that there’s no way to brace the door to allow all of us to get out before they can get in here and stop us.”

           

Spike and Buffy looked at one another in consternation. No one had thought about that little dilemma. Rachel saw the look and continued. “I think it might be time to go to plan B,” she suggested.

           

“There’s a plan B?” Dawn asked, confused.

           

“There’s the grenade plan,” Rachel said quietly.

           

Spike shook his head vehemently. “There’s no way I’m leaving you in here to face those things.”

           

Rachel turned to Buffy, her face full of determination. Buffy met her eyes and slowly nodded. “Rachel’s right, Spike. That’s pretty much our only option right now. If you and Dawn slip out and around front, we’ll let them in and Rachel can do her thing. Then you can come in and clean up. It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel.” She paused thoughtfully. “Though I never understood why anyone would want to do that.”

           

Spike glared at her. “And what about you, Slayer?”

           

“I’ll stay here.”

           

Rachel looked as though she was going to protest and then stopped, reluctantly agreeing. “If anyone can handle me throwing out the fear vibes without going nuts, it would be Buffy.”

           

Dawn shook her head. “Buffy, it’s suicide.”

           

“Trust me, Dawn. I’ll be fine. We know what we’re doing.”

 

           

_“Before we do this, we need to know exactly what you’re capable of,” Buffy said, looking seriously at Rachel._

_“I understand,” the other girl replied. “The way my gift works, you can use it like a gun or like a grenade. If I’m in physical contact with someone, it’s pretty accurate. I can produce pretty much any emotional state immediately. It takes a lot out of me, but it leaves the other person defenseless for a few seconds. Long enough to get a stake into them anyway.”_

_“I thought your gift only worked on souls,” Buffy interjected._

_Rachel shook her head. “The projection part works on emotions, period. Even animals have very basic emotions, and demons are no exception. Reading a person is a different story altogether.”_

_“Okay, so I get the gun part. What about the grenade part?”_

           

Rachel glanced over at Spike who had been uncharacteristically quiet. “Put me in a room full of people and I can project to all of them at once. Get me in a room full of demons, and I’ll have them screaming Bloody Mary in two minutes. I can’t pinpoint the people in the room though, so if there’s someone there I’d rather not drive mad, I’d have to get them out first, or deal with the consequences of them remaining behind.”

 

           

Dawn hadn’t been there for that conversation a couple weeks ago, but Spike and Buffy remembered all too well. They also remembered what happens to a grenade when you use it versus a gun. The chances were a lot greater for Rachel that she wouldn’t make it out if she stayed on her own, which was why Buffy was remaining behind as well. “Spike, get Dawn outside and wait until we let the nasties in. Give it a minute or so then follow and help us clean up.”

           

“And if this brilliant plan of yours doesn’t work?” Spike demanded.

           

She met his eyes. “You know what to do.”

           

His jaw muscle worked as he nodded and looked over at Rachel. She gave him a smile and nod, and then came to take his place against the door. “Stay low,” he whispered.

           

“Be safe,” she replied.

           

Dawn was still slightly uncertain of what the plan entailed, though she could tell Spike wasn’t thrilled about it. “Buffy—” She met her sister’s eyes and saw both determination and hope written there. The Slayer had no plans of dying, and Dawn nodded, her own face hardening into much the same expression. “Right,” she said, turning to Spike. “Let’s go.”

           

Spike went out the window first, grateful that their attackers were too stupid to check for ways out other than the front door. He helped Dawn down, and then pulled her after him as they skirted the fray.

 

All of the monsters were crowded around the wooden door, and weren’t paying much attention to what was going on around them. For a moment, Spike considered attacking from the back, killing off a few before they could get a chance to get inside, and if Dawn hadn’t been with him, he would have. But he knew he would take some punishment, and while he might be able to take it and survive, she would get hurt. So he stayed, waiting for the right moment. The door burst open and the demons rushed inside. Spike gave it about thirty seconds before turning to Dawn. “I’m going in. Give it a minute and then follow.” Not giving her any time to argue, he moved swiftly across the open space between their hiding spot in the bushes and the mausoleum and burst inside.

           

Six of the demons were already dead, and the rest were wavering. The vampire joined in the fight, swinging his ax and beheading two before they knew what was coming. Between he and Buffy the last four were easily taken care of, and then his eyes went immediately to Rachel.

           

She sat leaning against a wall, her knees up to her chest and her head down. “Rachel?” he called, coming over to her. “Are you alright, luv?”

           

She nodded, swallowing. “Yeah, just give me a second.” He reached out to touch her, but she shook her head. “Don’t—don’t touch me just yet. I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”

           

Spike backed off, waiting. He heard Dawn come in behind him and ask Buffy if they were okay. Rachel slowly unfolded herself. “Took a lot out of me,” she explained. He offered her a hand up and she took it. “Do you think we can call it a night?” she asked.

           

Buffy nodded. “I think we’ve taken care of all the nasties that are going to get taken care of tonight.” She looked at the other girl admiringly. “That was a pretty nifty trick.”

           

Rachel shook her head. “I’m just glad it worked. Though, I was wondering, what are we going to do with the bodies?”

           

Buffy, Spike, and Dawn looked around at the carnage, and Buffy heaved a sigh of disappointment. “I hate it when they don’t just disappear when they die.”

           

A couple hours later all the bodies had been deposited in the near-by woods and Rachel was looking down at her filthy hands in disgust. “You know, it’s a good thing you’re known as the vampire slayer. If anyone knew about this part of the job description, they’d never sign up.”

           

Buffy gave a rueful little smile as she looked at her own clothes. “You have no idea.”

           

“Look at the bright side, luvs,” Spike said with a smirk. “At least you’re not cleaning up your own blood or mine.”

           

They walked quietly as a group, two-by-two. Rachel and Dawn were in front, discussing a math test Dawn had coming up, and Spike and Buffy slowly followed. “Your friend is pretty good,” Buffy said quietly, glancing over at him.

           

“That she is,” he replied. “Didn’t much help my peace of mind tonight though, with the both of you in there.”

           

“Were you worried?” she teased.

           

He looked at her, both eyebrows raised. “I don’t know what I’d do if something’d happen to either one of you. Told you I was still in love with you, Buffy.”

 

She shook her head. “Spike, I wish you wouldn’t. I know how you feel, but—”

           

“You don’t want to hear it.” Spike sighed. Their relationship might be on a firmer foundation than it ever had been in the past, but that didn’t mean anything had changed between the two of them. The small part of himself that was always completely honest knew that the chances were good that things would never work out with them. But he couldn’t give up hoping. He decided that he’d change the subject. “You want to tell me what we were looking at tonight?”

           

Buffy shook her head. “I’m really not sure, Spike. Activity is usually pretty intense right around the Hellmouth, but the past month it’s been increasing pretty steadily. We need to know what we were fighting tonight and what might be coming. You up for a little research tomorrow night?” she asked.

           

“Sure, I think I could probably lend a hand.”

           

“Rachel?” Buffy called. “Would you be up for researching tomorrow at my place? I can promise pizza.”

           

“I don’t see how I could refuse that invitation,” Rachel replied just as they neared her corner. “This is me. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

           

“We’ll probably start around six or so,” Buffy said. Rachel nodded and waved good night.

           

“I can walk you and Niblet home,” Spike offered.

           

Buffy was about to refuse then changed her mind. There wasn’t any harm in letting him escort her to her door. “All right.”

           

They walked along in silence, the night’s activities having taken their toll on all of them. “I’ve got first dibs on the shower,” Dawn called once they’d gotten home, rushing indoors.

           

Buffy rolled her eyes, looking at Spike. “Thanks for your help tonight.”

           

“You’re welcome. I know you couldn’t have done it without me.”

           

She opened her mouth to give him a scathing retort, but stopped. “You’re probably right,” she replied instead.

           

It was worth saying it just to see the stunned look on his face. “Are you sure you’re the Slayer we all know and love?” he asked.

           

“Yes, just as you’re the vampire so many love to hate.” She smiled to take any of the sting out of her words. That moment hung between them ready to be grasped as their eyes met. Part of her wanted it, wanted him. There had never been a lack of attraction on her part or his. But the other part of her wanted to do it right this time.

 

She didn’t want to get hurt, and she didn’t want to hurt him. She knew, deep down, that if she let something happen between them tonight it would be love on his part and little more than sex on hers, and she wouldn’t do that to a friend.

           

“I should go,” he said, breaking the silence and moving away as though he’d read her mind.

           

She glanced down at the ground. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Spike,” Buffy said as he turned away, but he made no reply as he disappeared into the darkness.

           

# February 10

 

Spike was met at the door, not by Buffy, whom he expected, but Xander. The vampire was still unsure of Xander’s precise feelings towards him, and was a bit uncertain he wouldn’t find himself on the end of a stake’s point. They stared at each other for a moment before Xander stepped aside to let him in. “Rachel got here a few minutes ago,” he said, his voice surprisingly devoid of malice.

           

“Thanks. Overslept a bit.” Spike passed by him uneasily. The problem with a soul was that it allowed you to feel things again. At the moment, he was feeling slightly guilty about sleeping with the git’s girlfriend. Never mind that they’d been unattached at the time, Spike knew what it felt like to see your girl in the arms of another. Not that he’d ever tell Xander.

           

He stopped, startled when he felt a hand on his arm. “Look, Spike, I don’t like you. I don’t think I’ll ever like you. But the way you’ve taken care of Rachel after her dad—” He paused, his jaw working. “Thing is, I know her dad. And he’s a really decent guy, but what he did to her was crummy. She’s a good kid.”

           

Spike nodded. It wasn’t an apology or an olive branch or anything like that. It was simply a statement of fact. Xander didn’t think he was the biggest scumbag on the planet, and he could live with that. “We all do crummy things, Harris. Part of our nature, I suppose.”

           

Xander dropped his arm like a hot iron and a shadow fell across his eyes. “Yeah, I guess we all do.”

           

Spike continued on into the kitchen and found everyone already gathered. “Hey, Spike,” Rachel said cheerfully. “You missed the pizza.”

           

“Not really my favorite entrée, duchess. What have we got so far?”

           

The next few hours were spent in relative peace and quiet as they went through tome after tome of ancient material. All of it was dry and most of it was of little use. Buffy paused as she flipped through yet another very thick and very heavy book to look up.

 

Rachel and Spike sat side by side, and she was pointing to something in her own book and asking a question in a low tone. Xander was leaning over Dawn’s shoulder as she surfed the net, looking for any clues as to what brand of demon had shown up the other night. Willow and Anya were going through some of the more esoteric texts, looking for anything that might be stirring up trouble on the Hellmouth. Buffy couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something missing. It was like—

           

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced over at Rachel. There had not been one insult thrown that evening, which might have been due to her very serious talk with Xander about not antagonizing Spike, or possibly any very serious talks the other girl had had with Spike, but she didn’t think so. As though she sensed someone staring at her, Rachel glanced up to meet Buffy’s eyes. Buffy raised an eyebrow and looked from one man to the other questioningly, but Rachel simply smiled and gave her an innocent look.

           

Buffy smiled. Normally, she might be a little upset when someone took it upon themselves to mess with others’ emotions, but in this case she’d let it slide. It was kind of nice not to have the two guys sniping at one another all evening long. Suddenly, Dawn let out a squeal of delight.

           

“Buffy, I found it!”

           

Buffy walked over to stand next to Xander behind her sister as everyone else looked up attentively. “Whatcha got, Dawnie?”

           

“Ooh. They’re called Kensha demons, and it says here that they’re drawn by an influx of magical energies. And they like to fight, so they’ll go anywhere they can for a good one.” She looked up expectantly. “That must have been why they attacked us last night.”

           

Spike sat back in his chair thoughtfully. “Sure, Bit. Unfortunately, that means they’re just a symptom of whatever’s going on. It doesn’t tell us why there’d be an increase in the energies.”

           

Willow nodded in agreement. “Spike’s right. And the Hellmouth’s basically a huge source of magical energies. Maybe it was just the usual rumblyness.”

           

The teen shook her head. “It says they get drawn to areas where the energy is increasing actively. There has to be a change, so it must mean that somebody’s messing around with it.”

           

“It’s probably kind of like osmosis,” Rachel interjected. When everyone gave her strange looks, she blushed. “You know, movement from an area of lower concentration to higher concentration? Never mind.”

           

Dawn nodded excitedly. “No, that’s exactly what they do. They move from areas of lower concentration to higher, but always where they see an increase in previous activity.” Now everyone was looking at Dawn with expressions of surprise. “What? So I pay attention in biology.”

           

“Either way, all that tells us is that there’s something out there messing with all the energy thingies. How are we supposed to figure out what’s actually doing it?” Xander asked. “It could be anything or anyone at this point.”

           

Anya disagreed. “Not just anyone, Xander. It’s not anybody in this room, at least. Unless Willow’s been practicing again.” No one even tried to reply to that piece of wisdom.

           

Buffy was about to suggest she and Spike check out the demon bars when Rachel raised her hand timidly. “Um, I might be able to do something.”

           

All eyes turned to her and she turned an even deeper red. “I know of some ways I can get information from folks that won’t usually talk.”

           

“Isn’t that a little dangerous?” Spike asked, his eyes glinting. He obviously knew something about what she was suggesting, though everyone else was in the dark.

           

“It can be,” she admitted, “but I know how to make it safer. I should be able to get something, though there’s a good chance anyone I talk to will say, ‘Come back when you’re dying.’ They usually like to let matters get urgent before they’ll help.”

           

“Who will you talk to?” Willow asked, curious. She knew of Rachel’s aversion to magic. The other girl claimed that magic had a tendency to alter her perception and that it could seriously throw her off, but the witch knew of no other way to make contact with other beings.

           

“Powers,” Rachel replied, almost shortly. There was a look of discomfort on her face, whether from having to answer questions or from the thought of what she was going to do, Buffy couldn’t be sure. “I can do it by virtue of my double citizenry, as it were.”

           

“While you’re at it, you should see if you can find anything out about the future,” Anya suggested. “Sometimes if you throw in an extra question they’ll answer it for free. But you have to be careful you’ve already paid.”

           

“Paid?” Spike asked suspiciously.

           

“Just like informants,” Rachel said easily, though there was something in her eyes that said it wasn’t quite that simple.

           

“Will you talk to your mom?” Dawn asked before Buffy could stop her.

           

A pained look crossed the girl’s face as she mumbled, “She’s not my mom anymore.”

           

Her sister opened her mouth to ask another question, but stopped when Buffy squeezed her shoulder. “We would really appreciate any information you could get for us, Rachel,” she said, closing the subject. “Spike and I can check out the demon bars and some of the informants tomorrow night, and the rest of you can keep researching. Maybe something will turn up.” Belatedly, Buffy remembered that she hadn’t even asked Spike if he’d go along. Turning to him, she asked, “Do you mind?”

           

“Whatever you say, Slayer,” he said smoothly. Even though his face seemed expressionless, she could see the worry behind his eyes and knew it was for Rachel. They both knew there was more to this information seeking than she was telling.

           

At that moment, Rachel rose. “I should go. There are some preparations I need to make.”

           

Before Spike could offer to walk her home, Xander stood as well. “I can drive you home if you want, Rach. I already told An I’d give her a ride.”

           

“That would be nice, thanks,” she replied, grabbing her pack from the back of her chair and refusing to meet Spike’s eyes. Buffy noticed her evasiveness and watched as the worry deepened in Spike’s dark blue eyes. He said nothing except a casual good-bye though, and Buffy couldn’t help but wonder at what exactly was going on between them. Willow and Dawn headed upstairs a few minutes later, leaving Buffy and Spike alone.

           

“I should go.”

           

“Do you want to stay?”

           

They looked at each other, shared amusement in their eyes as they both spoke at once. “Are you hungry?” Buffy asked. “I did get some blood for you, for tonight.”

           

Spike hesitated. “You didn’t have to do that.”

           

“I know, but I wanted to.” When he still seemed reluctant, Buffy added, “I’ve got those little marshmallows you like, and I was planning on some hot chocolate.”

           

After another moment’s thought, Spike accepted. “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

           

“I’ll just get your drink then,” Buffy said, turning toward the fridge to get some blood, missing the look of disappointment on his face. She couldn’t even say it. Couldn’t even tell him she wanted him to stick around. Oh, she’d made it known that she wanted his company, but even so, she wouldn’t actually say, yes, I want you to stay. He wiped the look off his face when she turned to look at him again. “Are you worried?” she asked.

           

“About what?” His face was puzzled.

           

“About Rachel. You seemed to know a little more about what she was planning on doing than the rest of us did.” The microwave beeped and Buffy pulled out his mug, depositing it and the bag of marshmallows in front of him.

           

“Yeah, well, I know a bit about summoning powers. She might have an in with them, but it’s going to cost her something. They’re all into sacrifice and things, payment up front and all that. Not like demons; they usually prefer favors.” Spike tossed a handful of marshmallows into his mug and took an appreciative swallow. “Besides, she’s a bit tight-lipped when it comes to her own problems.”

           

“Not like anyone else you know, huh?” Buffy said with a rueful smile.

           

“You were never tight-lipped, luv,” Spike replied with a raised eyebrow. “You just didn’t want any help. Rachel will take help once you pry her problems out of her. It’s a bit of a switch really.”

           

Buffy wasn’t really sure what to say about that. It was true enough, of course. Spike would have gladly solved just about any problem she’d had last year, and she’d shut him out time and again. And yet, she was the Slayer, perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and she said so. “I appreciated you listening and not hovering and all of that last year, Spike, but I am perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet, thank you very much.”

           

Both Spike’s eyebrows went up, and he shot her a very amused look that annoyed her all the more. “I’m well aware of that, Slayer, but don’t you think it’d be nice to have someone look after you for a change?”

           

Buffy stared at him, not wanting to admit he was right and yet not able to tell him he was wrong. Best thing to do in those circumstances: change the subject. “I just remembered. I have something for you. Wait right there.” She ran upstairs and rummaged around the top shelf of her closet. She’d been careful to hide it. Even though she’d been seriously tempted to burn it, some small voice had warned her that she might need it someday. That she might actually want to give it back to him.

           

Skipping quickly down the stairs, she walked back into the kitchen. “Here,” she said, holding out the duster to him.

           

He recognized it immediately. He’d worn it for a quarter of a century after all. One hand reached out almost timidly to touch it, and then he yanked it back as though he’d been burned. His eyes were full of both longing and torment when he said, “No, Buffy, I can’t.”

           

“Look, Spike, I know how you got it, but it’s still yours.”

           

He looked up at her, blue eyes nakedly emotional. “Why? Why should you want to give it back to me? You know what it means.”

 

There was shame there, she could see it, but also desire, and Buffy realized, startled, what it meant. He wanted it. He wanted some part of his old life. As sickened as he might be by what he had done, there was still some small part of him that wanted it.

 

Six months ago, she might have been disgusted. A year ago, she would have tossed the coat in his face and told him he was a pig. But now, she thought she understood. The soul made him more human, perhaps, but that didn’t mean it made him infallible. If anything, it made him more so. After what she had done to him and to her friends (she’d tried to kill them, after all), after Willow had tried to destroy the world, after Xander had left Anya at the altar, after Anya had gone back to being a vengeance demon…well, the list could go on. There was still darkness within him, just as there was within every one of them, and at this point, Buffy could accept that.

           

“It’s just a coat, Spike.” When he looked at her reproachfully, she continued, explaining. “Maybe the way you got it was really awful, and maybe what you did in it was awful, but you did some good while you wore it too. You started to change.”

           

He shook his head. “Buffy, I won’t lie to you. I want it back, but it’s not about change. I didn’t really change. If I had, I wouldn’t—” Stopping abruptly, he pushed it away. “It’s still in me, Buffy. Sometimes I wish my soul was like Angel’s, and I could just do something and get rid of it. Rachel’s always telling me what a great guy I am, but she doesn’t know. You saw me clearer than anybody. You know what I was, what I am.”

           

Buffy felt as though she’d been kicked in the gut. She had learned to expect a certain degree of self-loathing with Angel, but not Spike. He was the coolly confident one. The smart-ass with an ego a mile wide and fathoms deep who would not be put off by anything she did or said, but simply loved her till the world’s end.

 

A memory pricked her. The night she’d died (the second time) he’d said, “I know I’m a monster…” Turns out what she’d said had gotten through after all. She sighed.

 

“You are a great guy, Spike. It just so happens that our chemistry seems to be completely wrong.” At his surprised look, she amended, “Don’t get me wrong. The sex was great, but, well, every time I saw you I ended up turning into super-bitch. Not that that was your fault, but with the whole death thing, and you were there, and I was there, and then I felt bad about it because it really wasn’t supposed to happen, and I knew I was using you—” Buffy stopped to take a breath, realizing that she was babbling.

           

“The point is, I knew you’d changed, and I knew you were a pretty okay guy. Maybe not perfect, but who is?” Putting a hand on his arm, she met his eyes. “You know, I never meant to screw up so royally.”

           

Would he ever stop looking at her like that? Buffy wondered. He was looking at her as though she’d just thrown him a lifeline, and she was pretty sure she hadn’t. She liked him, maybe it was more than like, but she’d been in love before, and her feelings for Spike weren’t like that. Not now, and maybe not ever.

           

“I think I was probably already fairly well buggered,” Spike said sardonically. “There isn’t a vampire around you would be idiot enough to fall in love with the Slayer, except me.”

           

“And Angel,” Buffy pointed out unhelpfully.

           

Spike made a face. “Do me a favor, luv,” he said pointedly. “Please don’t compare me to Peaches. It pretty much destroys whatever dignity I have left.” He rose and pushed the duster she still held back into her arms. “That’s not quite me anymore, Buffy,” he said, with a measure of dignity she had never seen from him. “Not that I know exactly who or what I am, but that isn’t it. Or, at least, I don’t think I want it to be. You keep it. Burn it or bury it, do whatever you like, but you hang onto it.”

           

Buffy searched his face, his eyes, letting her gaze drift over the familiar features. He was probably one of the most complex people she’d ever met, she realized. Most people, you could predict their reaction. With Spike, you never knew. “All right. I’ll hang onto it until you want to redeem it.” Letting him know that redemption might still be possible, that she hadn’t thought him such a bad guy, not really. Giving him hope that he could only trust was not false.

           

“I really should go,” Spike said heading towards the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Slayer.” Buffy watched him go, thinking that it still seemed that something was missing without the black duster, that he was smaller somehow. She took the leather coat up to her room with her, and gently folded it, laying it back in its place on the top shelf, thinking that every time she saw him, she saw another chapter close.

 

# February 11/12

 

He was waiting for her when she came home. She expected him to be there, which was why it didn’t surprise her that the door swung open before she could even use her key. And it was a good thing he’d decided to act on his worry of the previous night, because Rachel would have fallen flat on her face if he hadn’t caught her.

 

“Easy there, luv,” he said, holding her steady.

 

She leaned against him for a long moment, letting herself soak in his strength. Still holding her by both arms, he pushed her away to take a long look at her face. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” he demanded, his voice rougher.

           

Rachel shook off his hands, making sure her knees were steady, and made her way over to the small table to sit down. “Pizza, last night.”

           

“Stupid git,” Spike said. “No wonder you almost fell on your face. You look terrible.”

           

She wasn’t in the mood to argue and simply put her head down on her arms on the table. “Petitioning isn’t the kind of thing you can just take a break from for a quick snack, Spike. You’re either in it for the long haul or you’re not.”

           

The vampire frowned slightly. “When did you start?”

           

“Last night, after Xander dropped me off. I went back out to this little spot I know.” Her arms muffled her voice, but she knew he would have no trouble hearing her. “We needed the information, and I thought I’d kill several birds with one evening’s work.”

           

Spike was beginning to rummage through her fridge for something for her to eat. She wasn’t going to maintain consciousness for much longer if she didn’t have anything in her stomach. “Cupboard to the left of the fridge,” Rachel directed, hearing his movements and knowing exactly what it was he was doing. “There’s a container of protein powder.”

           

Spike found it easily and held it up to read the label. Furrowing his brow, he peered inside. “Don’t tell me you eat this stuff,” he exclaimed, wrinkling his nose at the dry powder.

           

“No, you stick it in a shake. Ice cream in the freezer, plus the frozen fruit, and milk. Follow the directions on the back. Blender’s in the cupboard left of the stove.” Rachel’s voice was incredibly weary, which worried him. He’d never seen her this drained before.

           

“Are you sure you don’t want something solid?” he asked. “Seems a little poncy to me.”

           

“Think of it as a human’s version of blood; very nutritious and filling. Besides, I’m too tired to chew, and that’s what anything more substantial would require.” She managed to raise her head and smile at him. “Don’t worry, I’ve been drinking those things for a month now, and I haven’t noticed anything abnormal.”

           

Spike lifted an eyebrow and went about making the shake as she’d directed. Finding a large glass in the cupboard, he poured the thick mixture out of the blender and plopped it in front of her. “So was it worth it?” he asked finally, as she started to suck it through a straw.

           

“Yeah, I got a pretty good idea of who and what is causing the trouble, but there’s more to come. Turns out they’re opening the Hellmouth and raising a demon that won’t be any fun to kill. We’ll need more information when the time comes, but mom said I could have it for free, as long as it’s in our ‘hour of need.’ Which pretty much means, right when it comes out, but it could be worse.” Rachel sucked on her straw a bit more, and Spike was relieved to see a bit more color in her cheeks.

 

Suddenly, his eye caught sight of something on her arm, and before she could react he pulled it towards him where he could see. Two deep slashes ran along the inside of her left arm. They were fresh and unbandaged, and Rachel met his eyes reluctantly. “Blood’s a potent call, Spike, especially from someone like me,” she explained. “And some of the powers require gifts.”

 

“Why didn’t you say anything about this?” he asked. “I had thought you were going for a little conference with your mum, not with an entire bloody battalion.”

 

She shook her head. “I got to thinking about what Anya said, about asking questions regarding the future. That kind of information has a price attached, but it was one I was willing to pay.”

 

Spike reached over to tip her chin up so her eyes met his. “This have anything to do with what’s had you so worried for the past few weeks?”

 

Her lip began to tremble, and before he knew what to do, she was crying. Spike had never been comfortable with tears, and Rachel’s were no exception. “Hey, now. None o’ that, duchess. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve pried.”

 

She sniffled. “It’s not your fault. I’m just tired. Have I ever told you how me being half one thing and half the other works?”

 

Spike said nothing, waiting for her to continue. He was used to her questions by now, the ones that seemed to come out of left field, but were really her way of setting up her point.

 

“Thing is, it’s like there are two people living inside me. There’s this really old, powerful part of me that comes out every once in a while, and then there’s just me. But I’ve got to choose someday what part I’m going to stick with, because you can’t have them both forever. Recently, I’ve just been feeling like the choice is going to come a lot sooner, rather than later.”

 

“That’s what happened to your mum, then,” Spike said, beginning to get a clearer picture of the situation. “She had a choice to go or stay, and she chose to go.”

 

“To be fair, no one chooses to stay when it comes right down to it,” Rachel explained a bit defensively. “It would be like Michelangelo deciding not to paint anymore. The potential just gets wasted. But you can choose to give it away to someone else, to save a life, if you do it unselfishly.” A sad, thoughtful look came into her eyes, and Spike could see a little of the power she described. “Mom said I was getting really powerful, and that when my time came, I’d be one of the strongest, even though I’m so young.”

 

Spike began to put things together from what she’d just told him, and he felt a tendril of fear run up and down his spine. “You said you wanted to ask about the future. You said you’d been feeling the choice would be coming up quick. What did you learn tonight?”

 

Rachel met his fierce blue stare, and there was a depth of confusion and sadness there he had never seen before. He began to understand what she meant about two people living inside her; it explained why sometimes she seemed even older than he, and why sometimes she seemed like no more than a twenty-year-old kid.

 

“They said I’d have a choice to make. Somebody’s going to be hurt badly enough that my gift will be the only thing that saves them, but they couldn’t say who it would be, just that there were multiple possibilities. The only definite is that I’ll have to make the choice, and I don’t know if I can, Spike. Will saving one life counterbalance all the good I could do if I chose to take my place with the powers?”

 

Spike didn’t know how to answer. What was a single human life worth, especially when weighed against what a powerful girl like Rachel would be able to do eventually? And yet, he couldn’t think of a single person he’d be willing to lose to ensure that good would be done, not even Harris. As he searched her eyes, he realized with a sense of shock that she thought he might actually be able to give her an answer. The trust she had for him demanded a response, and he racked his brain for the right words to say.

 

Spike did the only thing he knew how to do: he gave her back the same measure of trust she’d given him. “Rachel, I don’t think there’s a right or wrong answer here. When we go in there to fight, tomorrow, or next month, or next year, we know what we’re facing. Every one of us knows that we could be killed. I know you, and I know that whatever happens, whatever you decide, it’s going to be the right decision.”

 

Some of the tension seemed to leave her. “Thanks. You don’t know what it means to hear you say that.”

 

“Well, you know me, luv. I’m the guy to come to for the right answers. Just think, you could have avoided all this bother if you’d just told me sooner.” Spike smirked, and was pleased to see her give him an amused smile in return. “Come on then,” he said firmly. “You need to get those cuts bandaged, and then you need about a day’s worth of sleep.” He put one cool hand to her forehead, and was dismayed to find she had a fever. “Definitely bed for you.”

 

The vampire bandaged her arm expertly and tucked the girl into bed. “Thanks, Spike,” she murmured.

 

“I’ll be here till you wake, luv,” he replied, not even sure she had heard him, so quickly had she fallen asleep.

 

~~~~~

 

Spike sat on Rachel’s couch with the TV softly lighting the room. There wasn’t anything on this time of night, and he didn’t much feel like reading. There was too much to think about to do any of that, and the telly was just a nice bit of background noise. He was beginning to find himself in the unenviable and uncomfortable position of loving two women. He wasn’t _in_ love with both of them, and there was a difference, but he loved both.

 

The trouble, if you could call it that, was that he had always been a one-woman kind of man, at least until they dumped him. First there had been Cecily until she had chased him away. Then there was Dru, but she’d never really been his, no matter how much he’d loved her. Her mad, twisted heart had always been Angel’s first and foremost. Then there was Buffy, and Spike was beginning to suspect that for all his efforts, for all his love, she might turn out to be a lot like Dru. Always Angel’s.

 

And yet, he’d gone to the ends of the earth for her. To that dark cave in Africa to win back his soul for her. All of it had been for her, and in that way she would always have a hold on him. In some sense, his soul belonged to her, and would always belong to her. If not for her, he wouldn’t have a soul.

 

Spike wished fervently for a smoke and a drink, preferably the good stuff, but the liquor was definitely out. Rachel didn’t keep anything like that in the house. The smoke couldn’t wait though, and he went out onto the front porch to light up. Standing there, leaning against the corner post, watching the smoke wreathe his head, he cursed his fate again. Why the hell did he have to go off and fall in love with the Slayer, of all people? Why couldn’t he have fallen for some nice bird like Rachel he actually had a chance with? It was Romeo and Juliet all over again, that’s what it was, only this Romeo was doomed to unrequited love forever. And it was fated to end just as badly. For someone anyway.

 

He finished his smoke, and with a practiced flick of his wrist, sent the glowing end spinning into the darkness. Stepping back into the house, he heard moans from Rachel’s bedroom. With a few quick strides, Spike reached her door and opened it softly. She was tossing in the grip of some nightmare, and he shook her shoulder gently. “Duchess, wake up. It’s only a dream.”

 

Her eyes flew open, and she stared at him unseeing. Then, before he knew what was happening she grasped his hand. With a gasp, he suddenly was in the middle of her nightmare. Beasts of all shapes haunted her, taunting her inability to do anything, reminding her that if she’d been immortal she might have saved herself, telling her that death would end life in spite of her efforts. Spike reached out to grab her hand in the dream, and she turned reluctantly to meet his gaze. “You have to wake up now,” he insisted.

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Sure you can. Just tell the beasties to go screw themselves and open your eyes, luv. Come on, open your eyes.” Spike found himself looking at her sleeping form again as he coaxed her awake, and was relieved when she seemed to be shaking off the dream.

 

Awareness flooded her blue-gray eyes, and she stared at him in shock. “You were in my dream,” she said. “I didn’t—I mean, I thought—” She shook her head in disbelief. “I never thought I could do—that.”

 

Spike reluctantly realized that he’d actually been inside her dream, inside her head in fact. “Bugger me,” he muttered. Seeing her panicked look, he pushed her gently back down on the bed. “It’s not the end of the world. It definitely wasn’t the worst nightmare I’ve been in. Go back to sleep.”

 

“I’m sorry, Spike.”

 

“None o’ that,” he said firmly. “You didn’t hurt me any. Just go back to sleep.”

 

He watched her as she drifted off once again. Spike wasn’t at all sure what to think about what just happened, so he pushed it to the side. Nothing he could do about it now, and he wasn’t ready to consider the implications of his little foray into Rachel’s head. He rubbed a weary hand over his face, and something caught his eye on the nightstand. He squelched the guilty feeling that came from reading something that wasn’t his and scanned the poem. It was a sonnet, and while nothing up to Shakespeare’s par, it wasn’t half bad. “Better poet than I ever was,” he murmured, reading it for a second time, more closely.

## If love be bright and shining star

_Out of reach and grasp of feeble hands,_

_Or if ‘tis like a king gone far_

_To capture rich and bounteous lands,_

_Then love is the highest state_

_That man can ever hope to gain._

_And though it seems a desperate fate_

_Never to have love without great pain,_

_Yet pain it is that makes love sweet_

_When compared to effort made._

_So they who wish their love to meet,_

_Must offer all their hopes in trade._

_As sweetest battles are those hardest fought_

_So sweetest love is that most dearly bought._

 

Spike put the thin journal back on the nightstand just as he’d found it. Would love ever taste sweet to him? For him, love had always been a great burden, a singular burning passion. He had forever given and never been repaid. He had offered every hope only to have it dashed on the rocks of reality. Sweet love indeed might be if dearly bought, but that was assuming you had something left when it was all over, that having bought it, it was yours. Spike knew from experience that that wasn’t how it worked. He pushed that thought out of his head as well. No use to dwell on it. Best just to move on with life, or unlife, and like Rachel had said, make the best of what he had.

 

~~~~~

 

“How are you feeling?” Spike asked the next day when Rachel had finally come wandering out of her room around noon.

 

She rubbed a hand over red eyes and managed a smile. “Better, thanks. You didn’t have to stay here, you know.”

 

Spike shrugged. “You get more channels than I do,” he said.

 

“Whatever,” she replied, heading into the kitchen. “Did you eat already?”

 

He followed her, leaning nonchalantly against the doorway. “I found what you stashed away in the back of the fridge, if that’s what you’re asking.” He waited a beat as she continued to rummage. “You want to tell me what happened last night?” he asked.

 

She froze for a split second and then went back to considering the contents of the fridge, not once looking at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

Spike didn’t say anything. He knew she was lying, and he knew that if he stood there long enough she would tell him. Not only was she a terrible liar, but she felt horribly guilty when she tried it. Silently, he counted to one hundred.

 

He’d just made it to sixty-four when Rachel finally blurted out, “My mom said something like this might happen.”

 

“Something like what?” Spike wasn’t too worried about it. He hadn’t grown a second head, and it didn’t feel like he was going to any time soon.

 

“Sometimes you make a connection with people, but it’s not a one-time deal, it’s long lasting.” Rachel looked a little shamefaced. “I knew it might happen, but I thought I was being careful. Last night—changed things. Can’t you feel it?”

 

Spike concentrated. He’d felt a connection between the two of them for a while now, and had assumed it was just one of the side effects of friendship. This morning, though, she was right. The connection was there, and it was stronger. It was as though before they’d had a thread to tie them together; now it was more like a rope. “It’s stronger, but it’s not new. Been there for a while now.”

 

“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that. “You don’t mind, then?”

 

He shrugged. “It’s not like it’s uncomfortable or anything. Maybe it’ll come in handy.”

 

“Maybe.” Changing the subject, she started making a sandwich for herself. “What time are we meeting up with the gang tonight?”

 

“Buffy said about seven. We managed to pull some useful information out of a few of her informants, so with your information we might be able to nip this activity in the bud.” Spike spoke with a cocky assurance that Rachel couldn’t agree with.

 

~~~~~

 

Rachel felt a bit like a Jeremiah that night, sitting around Buffy’s table talking strategy. “So all

we have to do is find these Doomsday guys and kill them. I’m up for that,” Buffy said. She always felt better when she had a target.

 

“It’s not going to be that easy,” Rachel cautioned.

 

She really didn’t want to be the one to burst the bubble, but she knew things the others didn’t, and she knew things she wasn’t going to tell them. She and Spike had discussed revealing what the powers had said about the future, but he’d vetoed the idea almost immediately. Pointing out that they had nothing to go on aside from a very vague prediction that someone would be badly hurt or possibly killed, there wasn’t anything they could do about it.

 

Without knowing who or when, there wasn’t much in their power to prevent it from happening, if it happened at all. It would be better for morale if they were the only two who knew about what the future was rumored to hold. Rachel had agreed with him, but she hadn’t bothered to inform him that there were other things she knew that she hadn’t even told him.

 

All eyes turned to her, and Dawn made a face. “Gee, gloomy much?” she asked. “We’ve handled these things before, and the world hasn’t ended yet.”

 

There was a pregnant silence after that as they considered what some of those apocalypses had cost. “Hey, Dawn’s right,” Xander spoke up. “There’s nothing new about the world supposedly ending. We’ll just manage to stop it like we usually do.”

 

Neither Spike nor Willow said anything, but they both had thoughtful looks on their faces. The vampire suspected that Rachel hadn’t told him everything, and the witch knew the other girl was keeping secrets. “So how do we find these guys?” Buffy asked, looking at Rachel. “We got the name. Did you find out anything about where they might be staying, or is it research time again?”

 

Rachel ran a hand over tired eyes. She still wasn’t quite recovered from a night of summoning, and she was fading fast. Spike gave her an encouraging look, and she continued. “That’s what’s not going to be easy. These guys are in another dimension right now. The stuff they’re doing in there is what is drawing everything else here. When the time is right, they’ll step through into this dimension, summon their demon, open the Hellmouth, and literally watch all hell break loose. This is their hobby. It’s what they do. Unfortunately, we can’t do much until they show themselves except try to keep things from getting too wonky and preparing for the moment they do come over.”

 

There was silence around the table. “We have done this before,” Willow suddenly said. “Don’t you remember that time when the Hellmouth opened, and we had to stop it. There wasn’t that much time, but we did manage.”

 

“We had Giles then,” Buffy said quietly, “and Angel. Which means we’re going to have to do some serious planning and even more serious research. We need to know when exactly they’re planning on doing this.” She sighed. She was really getting tired of having the world try to end every year or so. Just once she’d like to take a nice, long vacation without worrying that everything was going to fall apart. “I’ll give Giles a call tomorrow and see if he knows anything about these guys.” She looked over at Rachel with concern. “You look like you could use some more sleep. Don’t worry about patrol tonight. I think Spike and I can handle it.”

 

Rachel nodded. “I think I’d probably fall on my fact tonight,” she admitted.

 

“I’ll walk you home, duchess,” Spike said and turned to Buffy. “Meet you at my crypt in an hour or so, then?” When she nodded, he helped Rachel up and they both left.

 

Xander watched them go and then turned back to Buffy. “I’ll talk to Anya tonight,” he offered, the ex-vengeance demon not having been able to come due to a rather nasty headache. “She might know a little bit about this too.”

 

“Good,” Buffy agreed. She looked over at Willow. “How do you feel about magic?”

 

“When the time comes, I think I’ll be okay. It’s really a matter of not overdoing it, you know, not using it for everything.” Willow appeared fairly confident, but her heart had begun to beat a little faster. Not using magic was still a struggle, but she’d learned a lot about control over the past few months. She still practiced, but like she’d said, it was a matter of not using it for everything.

 

“All right. I have a feeling we’re going to need you for this one, Will,” Buffy said. “In fact, I think we’re going to need everyone.”

# March 21

 

Buffy sat back on the couch with a deep sigh. It had been a long six weeks. In spite of all their efforts, Rachel had been right. No trace had been found of the Doomsday group that the girl claimed made of hobby of letting hell loose and watching the fun. They had done the only practical thing and tried to stifle the mayhem from all the visiting demons.

 

Along with continued deep research nights and frequent phone calls to England for Giles’ advice, they had made a habit of regular double patrols, usually consisting of Spike and Rachel, and then Buffy and the Scoobies or Dawn, unless the situation demanded a united front. But Buffy knew that Spike usually pulled an all-nighter, his first patrol with either Rachel alone or with Buffy and assorted Scoobies, depending on the night, and then a second one by himself into the early hours of the morning.

           

Buffy could sense that he was walking a tight wire. She wasn’t afraid that he was losing his sanity or anything like that, but she could tell he was riding the line between staying and going. While she had been known to harbor denial occasionally, she had no desire to be anything other than honest with herself this time around. She’d realized that part of her ability to use him was her ability to delude herself that she wasn’t really hurting him, that he couldn’t be hurt. She understood that she had been wrong on that point, but now that he had his soul, that point seemed moot. He was still in love with her, and it was slowly killing him.

           

It would be so easy to love him, to let him love her. He practically worshipped the ground she walked on, he was completely faithful, the soul was permanent—there were all kinds of reasons why he was the perfect guy for her. But what she felt for Spike lacked all the fire of her first love, and she knew that if Spike had won his soul for her, Angel might eventually find a way to make his permanent.

 

What’s more, she knew that if Angel came walking through her front door tomorrow, soul permanently intact, she’d take him back in an instant. Even if she loved Spike, and she still wasn’t sure of that, she didn’t love him _that_ much. Buffy couldn’t see being in a relationship with someone she wasn’t as devoted to as they were to her. She’d seen what that had done to Riley. And it had turned Spike inside out. If there was anything she knew for sure, she loved him too much to do that to him again. You didn’t use someone you cared about. If he couldn’t be as important in her world as she was in his, there was no point in encouraging his passion.

           

With a groan related more to the heavy soul-searching than to her sore muscles, Buffy leaned down to take off her boots. She was happy to have the house to herself tonight. Dawn was spending the night at Janice’s, Willow was off at the school library to research a paper, and Xander and Anya were finally going on a date. Granted, they were taking it much slower this time, and Buffy had a hunch that the next wedding ceremony would take place in Vegas, but she was glad they were working things out. Spike and Rachel were patrolling, and Buffy found that relationship to be another interesting twist. There seemed to be something between them, but she knew for a fact that Spike still had feelings for her. Buffy sometimes wondered if it had anything to do with the other girl’s gift and how often she’d used it to help Spike. Maybe it had side-effects or something.

           

She pulled the second boot off with a sigh of relief and reached for the TV remote. It had been nice to slay by herself tonight. Refreshing, really, not to have to watch anyone’s back but her own. Just as she was about to get down to the serious business of vegging, the doorbell rang. Buffy frowned. She certainly wasn’t expecting anyone, but with her luck it would be someone announcing a major emergency. Like the end of the world.

           

“This had better be really good—” What she saw on the other side of the door cut off any thought of whatever else she was planning to say. “Giles?” she asked incredulously.

           

He smiled his gentle smile. “Buffy. How good to see you.” All breath left his lungs as she wrapped him in a tight hug. “I do need to breathe,” he reminded her somewhat ruefully after a moment.

           

“Oh, sorry. Long time and all that.” She stood back to look at him for a moment, then gestured him inside. “I didn’t know you were coming. Did you call?”

           

Hands in his pockets, he peered at her intently. “You’re looking quite well, Buffy.”

           

She found herself blushing. “Well, as interesting as this year has been, it has nothing on last year’s events. Many fewer problems of the personal variety.” Returning his stare, she pointed out, “You still haven’t told me why you’re here. Not that I mind having you here, of course, but it was kind of out of the blue, and—” She stopped. “Anyway, so why the sudden appearance?”

           

He followed her into the living room and sat down next to her on the couch. They had been here so many times before, he thought. In good times and in bad. And he thought it would be impossible to love her more if she had been of his own flesh.

 

“Frankly,” he replied, taking off his glasses and cleaning them, “the more I discovered about this Doomsday cult, the more worried I became. I thought I would come here, study the situation, give you what help I could.”

           

“You’re always a big help, Giles,” she said smiling. “Though, as scary as this apocalypse is, I can’t help not worrying about it. After a while, even the biggies get a little passé.”

           

Giles studied her face for a moment; after so long, he could read her like a book, and he knew she was more worried than she was admitting to. “What else is new, Buffy?”

           

“Oh, Xander and Anya are finally giving it another go. I thought I was going to go completely crazy watching them dance around each other. Willow’s doing really good. She’s still doing all those practice exercises she learned from the coven, and every once in a while she’ll do a spell if we really need one, but she’s pretty much not with the magic these days.” Buffy thought for a minute. “Dawn’s doing really well too, but you knew that. She’s turning into a kind of whiz at school. Her teachers are really pleased.”

           

Giles watched her carefully, looking for anything she might have been hiding from him during phone calls and in her emails. “What about Spike?” he finally asked. “You said he’d gotten his soul back.”

           

Buffy leaned into the corner of the couch, trying to decide how much of her personal thought-life Giles was really going to want to hear. “He’s okay. He’s been a lot of help the past few months, and the soul thing is interesting. You know how different Angel and Angelus were?” she asked, and went on when he nodded. “Well, with Spike it’s a little different. Okay, so it’s a lot different. You can see the difference in him. In some ways he’s totally different, but then he’ll say something so completely Spike, that it’s hard to say what’s changed.”

           

“And his friend? Rachel, right?” Giles was especially curious about her. He’d known there were human-demon hybrids, and had even met a few, but the rumors about other types of mixtures were few and far between. He hadn’t believed any of them until Buffy had told him about this girl.

           

Buffy considered his question for a moment. “Rachel is—unique. She’s been really good for Spike. From what I understand, she’s about the only thing that kept him sane with the whole soul thing and all. Other than that, you’ll just have to meet her. She’s kind of a hard person to explain.”

           

Giles’ curiosity was far from satisfied. “Will she be of any help to us?” he asked.

           

Her face grim, the Slayer answered her Watcher. “I think she might end up being the key to this, Giles.”

           

From there, they went onto lighter subjects. Buffy described a few of her exploits as a guidance counselor and told him about Dawn’s continued progress on the fighting scene. She was in the middle of explaining how she and Dawn had managed to ride herd on a bunch of Fyarl demons when the front door swung open and Rachel’s voice could be clearly heard. “Would you just let go of me, Spike? It’s a scratch, you stupid vampire. There’s no need to bother Buffy with—” she stopped when she saw Buffy and Giles standing in the door staring at them. “Okay, definitely a bad time. You have company, so we’ll just…” she trailed off as she tasted the tension in the room.

           

Buffy quickly remembered her manners. “Rachel, this is Giles. Giles, Rachel. And I’m sure you remember Spike.”

           

“I’m sure I do.” Giles tone was pleasant, but both girls could feel the tension ratchet up another notch.

           

“Are you hurt?” Buffy asked solicitously, eyeing the slightly bloodied bandage on her left arm.

           

“Like I told Mr. Protecto here, it’s just a scratch. He insisted on coming to your house because it was closer, but if we’re intruding, we can go.” Rachel looked from Spike to Giles a bit worried. The vampire still hadn’t said anything, and it was unusual for him to be without a smart-ass comment.

           

“Buffy and I were just getting caught up,” Giles said easily extending his hand, which she shook. He then peered at her wound around the bandage. “I believe Spike might have been right though. That does look like a nasty cut.”

           

Spike seemed to have shaken himself out of his astonishment and nudged her. “You see, duchess? Listen to the Watcher. He knows what he’s talking about.”

           

“I think I’m going to have to side with the guys on this one, Rachel,” Buffy said apologetically. She hated to have people hovering just as much as the next person. “Come on upstairs and we’ll see about getting that cleaned up.”

           

Rachel sighed. “Fine. Just as long as _you_ —” she looked pointedly at Spike, “realize that I am not that breakable.”

           

“Breakable enough,” Spike muttered as she went up the stairs.

           

“Heard that,” floated back down, and then he was left with the Watcher. He shifted nervously from foot to foot, uncertain of what he was supposed to say and how much the other man knew. The silence was killing him, and he looked up, only to see an expression of—was it sympathy?—on his face.

           

“How did you do it?” Giles asked quietly.

           

Spike swallowed. “Went to Africa. Passed some trials. Got it back. Not a long story, really.” The look in his eyes said the story was a bit more complicated than that, but Giles didn’t push.

           

“Yes. Well, Buffy’s been telling me what a great help you’ve been to her the past few months. She’s certainly appreciated your contributions.” Giles studied him, getting the measure of what he was now.

           

“Couldn’t have done it without Rachel,” Spike admitted. “She kept me from going completely off my nut the first few months I was back.”

           

“Indeed,” Giles murmured softly. “Tell me, Spike. Why did you come back here?”

           

Spike swallowed. He wasn’t sure what his answer was to that question. He’d come back for any number of reasons. “How long you got, Rupes?” he asked. “I don’t have one answer to that question.”

           

“Then why don’t you give me the shortened version,” Giles suggested, his tone summer soft, and the vampire could taste the danger.

           

He considered his options. “I suppose you could say I had to come back here. Thought the best place for a new beginning was at the end. And—I needed something.”

           

“And what might that be?”

           

“Forgiveness.”

           

The silence hung between them, heavy with possibilities. Giles considered Spike’s answer and the naked truth in his eyes. “Do you think you’ll be able to make up for what you’ve done?” the Watcher asked.

           

“No,” the vampire replied simply. “But I have to try.”

           

Giles wondered if Spike knew that he could have played a young Ripper. He rarely thought of that period of his life, and he wondered now if some of his annoyance with the vampire had come from those unwanted reminders. That he had been young and arrogant and dangerous once. It was from out of the depth of that knowledge, the understanding that everyone needed forgiveness, that he was able to say, “I hope you find it.”

           

“You’ve got to watch out for that left side,” Buffy was saying as the two girls came into the room. “When you’re right-handed, it just makes it that much easier to drop your guard on the left, and that’s when you’ll get hurt.”

           

“Well, you know me. My best work gets done when they’re actually touching me. This thing just wanted to slice and dice. I haven’t had much time to get used to the whole slicing and dicing thing.” Rachel’s arm had been neatly bandaged, and she seemed to be just fine.

           

“You okay, duchess?” Spike asked, looking at Buffy.

           

“She’s fine,” Buffy replied with a reassuring smile. “It wasn’t as bad as it looked.”

           

“See?” Rachel asked. “Next time, you should listen to me.”

           

“I’d rather there not be a next time, if it’s all the same to you,” Spike replied easily.

           

Rachel ignored that last comment and turned to Giles. “It was really nice to meet you, even if the circumstances were a little messy. I’ve heard so much about you.”

           

“Some of it good, I hope,” Giles replied with a smile. “I’d like to talk to you sometime about your unique background.”

           

“Careful, Rachel, Giles is getting all Watcher-like on us. Before you know it, he’ll be pumping you for the juicy details.” Buffy grinned as she teased the two.

           

The other girl flushed and ducked her head. “I wouldn’t mind giving out information. The only reason it’s a secret is because people usually think I’m crazy if I tell them what I am.”

           

“Well, I can at least promise you I won’t think you’re crazy. Though I’m not sure exactly what being friends with Spike means for your sanity.”

 

Giles smile widened at Spike’s outraged, “Hey, now!”

           

Rachel grinned. “All right then. Just let me know when you want to talk. We should probably get going though,” she said, turning to Spike.

           

“Right you are. Good night all.” Giles and Buffy watched as he and Rachel left.

           

“I can certainly see why you had a hard time describing her,” Giles said after they’d gone. He and Buffy sat down on the couch in the positions they’d held previously. “Just that brief contact, and I could sense something. It’s hard to put your finger on.”

           

“I told you it wasn’t just Buffy-speak,” she replied. She frowned suddenly. “By the way, where were you planning on sleeping tonight?”

 

# April 10

 

Spike sat on Buffy’s back porch having a smoke. The time was drawing nearer; he could feel it in his bones. Giles had finally found the passage they needed in an old, very rare book, and was busy translating it.

 

Spike had the distinct sensation that this would be one of those “in the nick of time” deals, but they had worked out a reasonable strategy and everyone knew their parts. It was just a matter of playing the waiting game now. He heard the door open behind him, and knew who it was immediately. The scent of her was like a brand burned on his memory.

           

“I thought I might find you out here,” Buffy said, sitting down next to him. “Rachel went home. She said she had some things to get together before the big show.”

           

Spike took another drag of his cigarette before answering. “I think it was more of a need to get away,” he replied. “She’s not used to all the commotion, and emotions are riding pretty high right now. Not much used to that either.”

           

“I thought it might be something like that.” Buffy looked off into the darkness. While she was ready for a good fight, she also felt at peace. The last week had been strangely quiet, and she had recognized it as the calm before the storm. Soon, it would begin, and then it would be over, for better or for worse. “Can I ask you for a favor, Spike?” she asked softly.

           

“You can ask me for anything. You know that, Buffy,” he replied, almost reproachfully.

           

God help her, she did know. That was what scared her at times. “I know that when this is all over, you’ll probably leave.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn startled blue eyes to her. “But if something happens to me, I want you to promise to stick with Dawn. I’ve named Giles her legal guardian, but I want you to promise you’ll take care of them for me.”

           

Spike knew better than to tell her that she was crazy, that of course she’d make it out of this in one piece. If they were all being honest with themselves, they knew that any one of them might end up dead. “You know I will, Slayer. Till the end of the world, remember?”

           

She remembered. His words, his face as he spoke them, haunted her dreams at night. He’d kept his promise, and what had she given him in return? It was this that reproached her, though she’d managed to forgive herself. There would always be regrets.

           

“Would you do me a favor?” he asked then, his eyes boring into hers.

           

“Depends on what it is,” she said lightly, trying to make the moment a bit less dismal.

           

“If I’m the one that buys it, look in on Rachel for me. That wanker she calls a father isn’t much, and she’ll need somebody.” Spike was utterly serious, and for a long minute Buffy couldn’t speak. Spike was the one who was immortal. He wasn’t supposed to die; he couldn’t die. He was the one who would live forever.

           

When she could speak again, she forced herself to keep her tone upbeat. “Like anything could kill you,” she scoffed. She met his gaze and swallowed. His eyes rebuked her playfulness in response to such a serious request. “She’s one of the gang now, Spike. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

 

He nodded, and looked back into the darkness of the yard, his pale features almost glowing in the light of the moon.

           

“Why do you think I’ll leave after this, pet?” he asked, his tone neutral.

           

She studied him, wondering if her feeling had been off. “It’s just a hunch. You just seem more—I don’t know—maybe antsy than usual. Like you’re ready to run.”

           

He flicked his cigarette butt into the yard, and Buffy restrained the urge to tell him to go pick it up. “Won’t say I haven’t considered it,” he replied. “When this is all over, it’ll be a decision I’ll have to make. Unless there’s a good reason for me to stay.”

           

“I wouldn’t mind it if you stayed, Spike,” she said softly, not knowing why she said it even as she did. No, she wouldn’t mind him staying, but she wasn’t sure that she could give him what he needed to remain.

           

“That right? You’d miss me then?” he asked with his patented smirk. She could see the hope alight in his eyes, and with a fear she couldn’t name, she realized that she had put it there.

           

“I missed you when you were gone last summer,” she replied, noticing that he had moved a little closer to her. A panicked voice in her head reminded her to be careful, that this vampire was in love with her, that this was going to end up getting one of them hurt, and it probably wasn’t going to be her.

           

“That’s a nice thought,” he purred, moving even closer. She was mesmerized by his eyes, by the planes of his face. He was beautiful and bright and glowing, and in that moment she wanted him more than she wanted anything else. The little voice of reason was drowned out by his scent, and then the feel of his lips on hers, and then the taste of him.

           

When it reasserted itself, it did so with a vengeance, and Buffy pushed him away. If anything, the kiss had only reminded her that she was not in love with him, that she could not meet his burning passion with her own, and she knew that if she was to refrain from hurting him irrevocably, she needed to end this now. “Spike, I can’t. This—this is wrong.”

           

The words were out of her mouth before she realized what they sounded like. What she had wanted to say was that she cared for him, but not like he deserved. She didn’t want to hurt him. This was too soon, too fast. She trusted him, but she needed more time. Buffy wanted to say all of these things, but those words were out of her mouth before she could call them back, and Spike pulled away from her as though stung.

           

“So that’s how it is?” he asked, his voice full of bitterness. “Nothing I can do to make you realize I’ve changed. I’ll always be wrong, just some evil thing to you, won’t I?” He laughed, a sound as harsh as the noonday sun. “Well, I’ll just take myself off then. Let me know when you need me.” And he disappeared into the darkness before she could call him back.

 

Angrily, Buffy cursed herself. She’d screwed it up once again. Couldn’t she do anything right where it concerned a man? Someone called her from inside the house, and she got up to leave, wondering if Spike would turn up again. If, by her careless words, she had chased him away and doomed them all.

           

~~~~~ 

 

He hadn’t thought her words would burn this badly. He’d thought he had managed to bring his

passion for her under control, that it wouldn’t matter so much the next time she rejected him, but he had been wrong. Briefly, he wondered if it was the soul. Sure he’d loved before, felt before, but perhaps the soul magnified the feelings. Even if Buffy had been wrong about him not being able to feel before he’d gotten the bloody thing back, perhaps she was right to a degree. Maybe he couldn’t feel to the extent he did now without it. Or maybe he’d simply been deluding himself, thinking he could withstand yet another rejection.

           

He didn’t even think about where he was going. His boot-clad feet seemed to move of their own accord; they knew to take him to the only person he could trust to be sympathetic to his plight. As had happened before, when he’d come to her door with a different sort of hurt, it swung open before he could knock. Without a word, she took his hand and led him to her couch and held him. He cried then, silently, painfully, his body wracked with the pain of her rejection. It was as though she had died all over again. Whatever hope he had had, was dead within him. Dust and ashes held together only by the spark of his soul.

           

When he was done, he sat up, embarrassed, swiping his wet cheeks with the backs of his hands. It was only then that he realized Rachel was crying as well. “Sorry, luv. No need for you to get all blubbery too.”

           

She looked at him with a blinding sort of compassion. “I feel what you feel, Spike.”

           

He moved away from her to break the contact. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

           

“Not like that,” she said, touching his hand with her own. The realization, when it came, was startling and almost painful. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t seen it before. She was in love with him.

           

“Oh.” That one word was pulled out of him, dragged out of his lips. “Rachel, you know—”

           

She cut him off again. “Don’t say it,” she said, almost angrily. “I should know, better than anyone else, how you feel. I know that you care for me, but not in the same way I care for you. I know you’re in love with Buffy. I’ve known it from the first moment I touched you.”

           

He fell silent. She was right. She would know his feelings better than anyone else, just as he should have known hers. Perhaps he had, and simply hadn’t wanted to admit to it. Not knowing what to say, he waited for her to speak.

           

“My love is not a burden, Spike. It’s my gift to you, one I give without asking anything in return.” She searched his face with her eyes. “Love isn’t something you can demand from another person. And it’s not really something you can control in yourself. It’s something that happens and something that you give. It’s what shapes you as a person. It’s what makes you what you are. I don’t regret loving you, not for one second. You are worthy of my love.”

           

He stared at her for a minute, and then asked, with a note of incredulity in his voice, “Do you really believe that?”

           

Rachel had tears in her eyes, but she laughed, understanding what he meant. Could she really not regret loving him when he couldn’t return that love, when it hurt her? “Yeah, I really do believe all of that.” She reached up and tenderly touched the side of his face. “It doesn’t make me feel any better, if that’s what you’re wondering, but I still believe it.”

           

Spike stared at her. Could he say the same? Could he say that he really didn’t regret loving Buffy? In all honesty, he supposed he couldn’t. Rachel was right; it was his love that had shaped him, that made him what he was, and if what he was now was a person worthy of being loved by someone like Rachel… Well, maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe there was something to it after all, something more than just the pain.

           

In that moment, he recognized what she had given him, the belief that he was someone worthy, someone good, and he wanted to give her something back that was just as precious. With one pale, long-fingered hand, he reached up to cup her cheek, and he kissed her. It was a tender kiss, one that sought to give, not take. There was no hunger behind his desire, only the wish to protect, to offer what meager shelter he could. He gave her everything it was in his power to give, and she met it with a gentle acceptance.

           

When it ended, neither one of them could have said who had been the first to pull away, but his forehead rested on hers and they shared a sorrow for lost love and lost time. For not having met one another when the opportunities were fresh and the whole world lay open before them. For love that would be left to fade, unrequited. And their sorrow was soothed for the sharing.

           

Whatever else they might have said to one another was cut off by the shrill sound of the phone. They broke apart almost reluctantly as Rachel got up to answer it. “Hello? Yes…yes, he’s here…all right, I understand…I’ll tell him. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hung up the handset and turned to face him. Her face expressionless, she said, “Giles deciphered the text. It’s happening tonight. You’re to meet them at Buffy’s house. They’ll leave from there. I’m to come as soon as I have the information we need.”

           

Spike stood, the look on his face resolute. “You’ll be able to find us then?”

           

Rachel gave him a small smile, and it was then that he saw the emotion behind her eyes. “I could find you anywhere on earth, love.”

           

There was mutual understanding there, and acceptance of what was and what wasn’t. Rachel shrugged into a dark, hooded jacket. “I’ll meet you as soon as I can,” she said.

           

He did not look back as he left her front porch, determinedly putting the past hours’ emotions and revelations behind him to focus only on the battle that lay before them. If Rachel were correct, if the predictions of her powers were true, someone would be badly hurt tonight, possibly killed. It was his job to make sure that didn’t happen.

 

~~~~~ 

 

When he entered Buffy’s house, all eyes turned to meet him. He found, incredibly, that he could meet the Slayer’s eyes with a studied nonchalance. It was an effort, but he let her understand that there were no hard feelings on his part. He would fight by her side, just as he always had. And it was no strain to see the relief in her eyes as she got his message.

           

Without a word, she tossed him his favorite ax. “Let’s go,” she said, her voice hard as forged steel. This was what she had been born for: to fight, to protect, to stake everything on winning. Spike understood this, and he understood who she was. That was why he followed her.

           

As they made their way to the Hellmouth, the site of the new high school, Buffy dropped back to walk beside him. “Spike—”

           

He cut her off. “You don’t have to say it, Slayer. Just let it be.”

           

“Will you shut up for a minute?” she asked, exasperated. “I just wanted to say that it was wrong for me to kiss you; it wasn’t wrong for you to kiss me.”

           

He stared at her, confusion written on his features. “And the difference is?”

           

“I’m not in love with you, Spike. I don’t want to end up using you again, and that’s what would happen. I don’t have the same feelings for you that you obviously do for me, and I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t mean that you were wrong.” Buffy tried to make him understand. “You’re a friend. I don’t like to make a habit of hurting my friends.”

           

He gave her a small, sad smile. “I was crazy to think it would work,” he said huskily. “Whatever our feelings. The Slayer and a vampire? Never happen.”

           

She managed to smile back at him. They were nearing the school. “Be careful tonight, Spike.”

           

“You too, Slayer.” It was the ritual of battle, the words of allies. And nothing more. Spike took a firmer grip on his ax as he saw the black-robed figures surrounding the school. “Were there supposed to be this many of them, Watcher?” he called to Giles.

           

Giles face had hardened into a battle-mask. No longer was he the mild-mannered librarian. “To be honest, I had no idea how many of them there would be.”

           

“Well,” Xander said. “I suppose we’ll just have to clear the way then. We still have to get inside the school.”

           

They stood there as a group as they had so many times before, Buffy and Spike at the forefront. The Slayer and the vampire shared a look. This was what they lived for, this was what they loved. “Let’s go kick some Doomsday ass,” Buffy said.

           

The next thirty minutes were chaos. They watched each other’s backs as best they could, but there were better than a dozen cult members outside, and a few more came out of the school when they heard the commotion. Spike was a whirlwind of limbs, grace incarnate as he danced. The rhythm of the movements made sense to him, and he felt everything fade away except for the fight. Pain seemed a dim memory as he passed it along to the robed things. He laughed with the joy of it.

           

His ax sent another head flying, and the world came rushing back to him as he realized there were no more robed figures for him to kill. Yellow eyes gleamed as he snarled, and then he saw it, the last of them. It was sneaking up on Xander who knelt over Anya’s body. She was moving slightly, so Spike knew she wasn’t dead, but Xander wasn’t paying any attention to what was going on around him. In a moment, the thing would sink its knife into his unprotected back.

           

He heard Buffy’s faint call behind him. She had seen the situation at the same moment he had, but he was the closest. There was no time to take the cult member out, so he did the only thing he could do. He dove at Xander, landing on him hard, and taking the knife meant for him in his own back.

           

Spike cried out with the pain of it, and could hear Xander’s muffled “oof” as they both sprawled on the ground. “What the hell—” Xander’s outraged cry was bitten off as he saw Buffy take out the black-robe with a well-placed arrow from her crossbow. His eyes widened as he realized what Spike had done, and he quickly bent down next to the vampire.

           

“Spike? You okay?”

           

Spike’s face had shifted back into its human guise, but he still managed to snarl effectively. “I just had a knife shoved into my back, you stupid git. Do you think I’m okay?”

           

Buffy knelt next to Xander. “Can you stand up?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

           

Spike attempted to push himself up and felt an unexplainable weakness in his limbs. The knife wound hurt, like it was supposed to, but there was something else as well. He felt a dawning realization. “I’m not going to be able to go in with you, Buffy,” he said, his voice strained. “You’re going to have to leave me.”

           

“I’m not leaving you out here, Spike. We’ll just—” Whatever she might have said was cut off by a low growl from the injured vampire.

           

“Listen to me. Their blades are poisoned, so stay away from them. Make sure no one gets cut.” She might have protested again, but he met her eyes with his own, and she saw the finality in his gaze. “Take care of things, Slayer. Concentrate on saving the world.”

           

She set her jaw and nodded. Rising, she called to the others, including a shaky Anya who had made it to her feet. “Let’s go.”

           

Before Xander could leave, Spike grabbed his arm. “You make sure nothing happens to her.”

 

The other man nodded, brown eyes filled with determination. “I’ll take care of her.”

 

Spike lay on the ground, unmoving, fingers gripping the ground as the waves of pain came and went. Death by poison, he thought to himself, what a way to go. And then, calling out silently to whatever might hear him, I don’t want to die alone.

           

~~~~~ 

 

The grove was not far from the new high school, which was good. Rachel knew that she didn’t

have much time, but her mother had been fairly insistent on the “dire need” part. She knew she’d been lucky to get that much, but it wouldn’t be much good if she got to the school too late and the world ended. That would certainly be a sucky end to the evening.

           

There were protocols involved with summoning the powers she had. Last time, she had needed to go to a specific place, one that had been untainted with dark magicks. Hard to find in a town like Sunnydale. This time, however, she simply went to a place that had been a favorite of her mom’s while she’d been alive. Well, when she’d been on this plane of existence, at least. There was no ceremony involved, she simply calmed her mind and waited, letting blood call to blood, power to power. When she opened her eyes, her mother stood there as calm and serene as she always was.

           

“You have come again in your time of need,” she said. “I will give you what aid I can.”

           

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure that the powers wouldn’t change their minds about that. “We need to know how to stop it,” she said.

           

Her mother’s eyes met hers, and instead of giving her information, she said, “You are in love with the vampire.” In that moment she seemed more human than she had since she’d left. “I could wish an easier fate for you, sweetheart.”

           

Rachel bit back tears. There wasn’t time for her to break down, even though she’d like nothing more than to be able to cry on her mom’s shoulder. But time waited for no one. “I don’t regret my love.”

           

“No, you wouldn’t. In that, you are like your father. He was fond of saying that he loved well, but not wisely,” she replied. “I will tell you what you must do to save your friends. And I will give you words to say at the end to seal off the Hellmouth.” Her mouth straightened into a grim line. “These fools have broken the rules, and for that we must balance the scales. The spell will not hold forever, but there will be peace for a time.” And then she touched her forehead, and everything Rachel needed to know flooded her mind.

           

She closed her eyes, absorbing the information, then opened them. “Thanks,” she said, but to empty air. Her mother was already gone. There was no more time to waste, and she took off running.

           

Her feet hit the ground rhythmically, matching the sound of her breathing. She could feel the energy humming in the air, and knew there was little time remaining. Something burned her to her bones, and a fear shook her mind. She sped her steps, knowing something terrible had happened. Seeing the figure lying there on the school lawn, she knew she had been right, that the predictions had been right, and her only comfort was that he was not yet dust.

 

Skidding to a stop, she dropped to her knees beside him, her breath coming in harsh gasps from her chest. “Spike?” she touched his shoulder, felt his pain.

           

His eyes fluttered open. “Duchess? Did you get what we needed?”

           

“Always thinking strategy,” she murmured fondly. “I got what we needed. But you need help.”

           

Spike shook his head fiercely. “Get inside. Help the others. Doing for me won’t mean shit if they manage to get the Hellmouth open.”

           

Torn, Rachel stared at him, but she knew he was right. “I’m sorry I can’t give you anything for the pain,” she said. “I need all I’ve got for what’s coming.”

           

“I know, duchess. Don’t worry ‘bout me. Just go.” When she still hesitated, he mustered up enough strength to nearly shout. “GO!”

           

Rachel scrambled up from her kneeling position and fled into the school. She tried to put Spike out of her mind as she raced down hallways towards the sounds of shouts. While the principal’s office had been built over the Hellmouth, the thing itself was in the basement, just under the office. As she neared the battle, she could see the creature that had come out of the Mouth itself. It was horrifying beyond words, and she stifled both her fear and the bile that rose in her throat. Giles and Willow were just finishing the binding spell as she came to a sudden halt just inside the doorway.

 

“It won’t hold forever,” Giles was warning Buffy. The Slayer held a sword, and looked at the beast with disgust and determination.

 

“It only has to hold long enough for me to stick it,” she replied, ready to make a run at it.

 

“Wait!” Rachel gasped, grabbing the other girl’s arm and holding her back. “There’s only one way to kill this thing.”

 

Buffy stared at her. “’Bout time you showed up,” she said. “What did you find out?”

 

Rachel stared at the thing in front of her. It was roughly human in shape, but it was about ten feet tall and covered in blackish green scales. The face was like something out of a nightmare, and the way it was struggling with the spell told Rachel that she had minutes to convince the Slayer of her plan. “You have to get it through the heart, but the only weak point is near the groin. You’re going to have to get underneath it and pierce the hide up and through, angled to the right. Once the barrier of the binding spell is passed, it’s going to weaken, and it will break through.”

 

“Fine,” Buffy replied. “I’ll go in and stick it. Not a problem.”

 

Rachel shook her arm, her eyes fierce and a little crazy. “You won’t get to it in time. That thing will stomp on you, and then where will we be? Let me pierce the barrier first. I’ll get on its back where it can’t reach me, do to it like I did to those demons in the mausoleum. Once it’s distracted like that, you can get in and shove the sword home. That way, if you don’t get the heart the first time, you might get a second chance.”

 

Buffy stared at her, and finally nodded. She’d come to trust Rachel quite a bit over the last months, and she understood what the other girl was saying. This wasn’t a vampire, where Buffy could hit the heart in her sleep. This thing was going to be a bit trickier, and they needed a distraction. Just in case. “All right. I’ll be ready and waiting.”

 

“Buffy?” Xander called. “What are we doing? Can we kill this thing _now_?”

 

Buffy appreciated Xander’s panic. The creature’s movements were getting more frantic, and she knew the spell was not going to hold for much longer. Calmly, she replied, “Rachel’s going to provide us with a little distraction.”

 

Rachel heard the calm in Buffy’s voice, and wished she could share it. Her mother had told her how to kill the thing, but she hadn’t said anything about whether or not her distraction was going to work. And this thing was a bit different from your run-of-the-mill demon she’d encountered so far. The only reason the binding spell was even working was because Willow was such a strong witch, and Giles’ experience made him equally formidable. She had managed to climb some crates someone had thoughtfully left lying around, and from there leapt to hang from a pipe on the ceiling, which was quite high. She began swinging her body back and forth, and when she’d gathered enough momentum, let go.

 

To her amazement, she landed squarely on the thing’s broad, scaly back, and a wave of revulsion swept over her as she made contact. She’d felt the same touching the other demons and vampires they’d fought, but not this strong. With effort, she forced it back, and vaguely she felt the thing break the binding spell. A cry was torn from her lips as she pulled forth every emotion she had ever felt, everything she’d ever felt from another, and she filled its head with it. In the back of her mind, she heard it roar, but still she projected into it all her rage and hope and love and despair and pain. She was still linked to it when Buffy’s sword found its heart, and she felt it die. And the darkness took her.

 

~~~~~

 

The demon came crashing down, face-first, which was a good thing for Rachel. “Did you see its

face?” Dawn asked as they neared it. It had been afraid at the end, and they had all seen it.

 

“Giles, help me,” Buffy called. The Watcher came quickly, helping her pull Rachel off the body. “She’s not breathing,” the Slayer said urgently.

 

Giles checked her pulse, and then quickly began CPR, Xander doing the chest compressions. Buffy, as a rule, refrained from mouth-to-mouth, mostly because she usually ended up breaking ribs. After a long minute, Rachel began to cough, and Giles quickly raised her up to help her breathing. “I’m all right,” she said weakly. “I think my brain thought I was the one who died for a minute there.”

 

The gang all breathed a sigh of relief, and Rachel began to push herself up shakily. “There’s still one more thing I have to do,” she said.

 

Giles was still on one side of her, supporting her, while the rest of them hovered nearby. “You need to rest,” the Watcher said sternly.

 

“No time for that. Giles, Willow, I need your help. The rest of you—out. There are measures that must be taken.” The look in her eyes was otherworldly, and her tone brooked no argument. Not even Giles found himself able to contradict her, and he and Willow stood on each side of her, waiting. “I need your strength,” Rachel finally said, when the rest of the group had left. “It won’t hurt you, most of it’s going to come from me. Just relax.”

 

They did as they were told, without even realizing it, knowing that there was something greater at work. Rachel began to speak in a low voice, in a language neither of them had heard before, and a great blue light filled the room. With a snap, it centered on the Hellmouth, and suddenly the body of the demon they had fought disappeared, and in their heads there was the sound like that of a bell ringing, and then all was dark, and they were only in a very ordinary school basement. “It’s protected,” Rachel said. “For a while anyway.” And with that, her head lolled to the side, and she fell, unconscious.

 

# April 11

 

Giles came to stand next to Buffy in the doorway of her living room. He followed her eyes to the still figure on her couch. “How is he?”

           

Buffy shook her head, fighting off tears. “Not good. Whatever those _things_ put on their blades is pretty effective on vampires.” She turned to look at her Watcher. “I don’t think he has much longer.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “It just doesn’t seem right.” They stood there in silence, and then Buffy asked, “How’s Rachel?”

           

Giles’ grim visage lightened a bit. “She’ll be fine. Her heartbeat is steady. It looks like exhaustion. Maybe some sort of burn out. But she’ll be alright.” He studied the dying vampire. “How will she handle this?”

           

Buffy shook her head. “I’m not sure. Willow thinks she’s in love with him, which I could see. She’s strong, but—” She stopped when she noticed Spike moving. “I should sit with him. He shouldn’t have to be alone.”

           

The Slayer stepped lightly over to the couch. They had lain him on his side, and she sat on the floor to face him. His eyes fluttered open, and his blue eyes, clouded with pain, met hers. “Looks like the end of the line, eh, Slayer? Guess you’ll be rid of me for good this time.”

           

“I never wanted to be rid of you, Spike,” Buffy said quietly, and when his look turned sardonic, she rolled her eyes slightly. “Okay, so maybe ‘never’ is a little strong, but I haven’t wanted you gone in a long time.” She reached over and tenderly brushed a tendril of hair from his forehead. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

           

He closed his eyes as a wave of pain overtook him, and then shook his head slightly. “No. This is for the best, Buffy. When—” he gritted his teeth. “When Rachel went and asked the powers for information the first time, they said someone was going to get hurt. Better it happen to me than to anyone else.”

           

Buffy stared at him, her eyes turning angry. “You _knew_ this was going to happen? And you didn’t say anything?”

           

He chuckled weakly. “Nothing you could do about it, luv. We didn’t know who or when, just that somebody might get hurt. You know the problem with predictions and prophecies. They’re always too vague to do anybody any good.”

           

Buffy bit her lip. He’d saved Xander’s hide, a fact that they were all well aware of, and had willingly sacrificed himself for someone he didn’t even really care for that much. “Spike, I have something to tell you.”

           

“Little late to confess undying love, Slayer,” he said, smirking.

           

Buffy restrained the urge to slap him. “I just wanted to say—I forgive you, Spike. And I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for the way I treated you, and I wish things could have been different.”

           

He stared at her in shock, and then an expression of peace washed over his face. For a moment, he looked like a boy again, years’ worth of anguish washed away with those few words. When Buffy saw it, she could only wish she’d been able to give him that peace months ago, when she’d first discovered that she had forgiven him. “Ta, luv,” he whispered. “Means more to me than you know.” His eyes drifted shut, and he sank back into sleep.

           

“Oh, Spike,” Buffy said, leaning her head against the couch. She reached over for his hand and laced her fingers with his.

 

~~~~~ 

 

Rachel stepped shakily down the stairs of the Summers’ home. She’d woken to find herself in

Buffy’s bed, and could feel the tug on her consciousness. “Not long,” she’d realized as soon as she woke. “He doesn’t have long.”

           

Taking a deep breath, she took the last stair and moved towards the living room, intent upon her goal. A hand on her arm startled her, and she looked at Giles in surprise. “You should be resting,” he said sternly.

           

Rachel shook her head stubbornly. “Spike’s dying. I have to see him.”

           

The Watcher seemed a bit taken aback that she knew, but her blunt words caused him to retreat slightly. “Of course.”

           

With the careful movements of an invalid, Rachel walked over to the couch where Spike lay, Buffy still seated next to him. Rachel put a tentative hand on the other girl’s arm. “Would you mind—could I have some time alone with him?”

           

Buffy looked up and saw the pain in her eyes. She knew that kind of pain too well herself. “Yeah, sure,” she said sympathetically. “He’s in and out of it, though.”

           

Rachel nodded. “That’s fine.” Buffy gripped her shoulder kindly as she left and joined Giles in the doorway.

           

“Come on,” Rachel heard Buffy say as she led the older man into the kitchen. The girl sat down next to the couch in the same place Buffy had been. With a gentle hand, Rachel placed her hand on Spike’s face. She didn’t have much strength left, but she had enough to give him a little relief, she thought. She pushed the pain back and watched as his eyes opened.

           

As she looked at him, she knew what she had to do. There was no longer a question in her mind. What was a life worth? A life was worth everything. _His_ life was worth everything. “I want to give you a gift, William,” she whispered.

           

His eyes widened as he took in her meaning. “You can’t, Rachel. Not for me. I’m not worth it.”

           

“If you’re worth my love, then you’re worth my gift,” she replied. “But it means you’ll be human. My gift brings life where there’s death. You’ll be alive again. Do you want it?”

           

Spike understood that she was giving him the choice. She wouldn’t force it upon him. “You make the decision, luv,” he said hoarsely. “I know you’ll make the right one.”

           

She nodded in reply and shut her eyes, concentrating. This time she came as a supplicant, for the last time, and so she called from where she sat. She let her despair echo forth from her mind, and soon a blue light began to fill the room. It washed over the pair, over the walls and the furniture until it filled every corner. Spike felt nothing but a sense of peace as it brightened and glowed in concentrated form right in front of Rachel. It transformed itself into a pillar, and then took on the shape of a woman. A woman he recognized from his dream. Rachel was speaking next to him, “I come to you as a supplicant today.”

           

“I have heard your supplication, and I know your desire. Is this truly what you wish?” Spike thought her voice was like bells, and while he heard all her words clearly, it wasn’t until many years later that he completely understood all of what she’d said.

           

“It is. I have made my decision.” Her voice was full of a terrible joy, the joy of making the right decision even though it would cost her dearly.

           

“And you know that his heart is not yours?”

           

Rachel shut her eyes. “I love him enough to let him go. I want him to be happy.”

           

A sense of joy filled the room so clearly that Spike thought he might weep with the exquisite pain of it. “Very well. You would have been the best of us, my daughter.” She turned to Spike. “Will you accept her sacrifice? You will be no more, and no less than any other man. You will live out your days as a human and will die and become as dust. You will grow old. Is this a fate acceptable to you?”

           

“We all die,” he said. “I will accept her gift.”

           

She smiled at him. “Then I wish you peace and a long life, William.” And with this, she placed one hand on her daughter’s head and one hand over his dead heart. His chest tingled and then burned, burned from the top of his head right down to his toes. He felt it in every cell of his body, but it was a glorious sort of pain, as though he were becoming new, as though he were being reborn, regenerated. And in a flash, it was over, and the woman was gone, her last words lingering in his ear. “Take care of my baby, William. Be well.”

 

~~~~~ 

 

“How is he?” Xander asked as Buffy and Giles walked into the kitchen.

           

Buffy rubbed a hand over weary eyes. “Not good. I don’t think he’s got much longer. Rachel’s with him now, though.”

           

Xander’s eyes were haunted by the knowledge that Spike was dying because of him. Such a feeling was never comfortable. “How’s Rachel?”

           

Giles began cleaning his glasses on his handkerchief. “She’s weak, but she’ll recover.” There was silence in the kitchen, the painful feeling of waiting for someone to die.

 

Anya reached over and took Xander’s hand, silent for once. Dawn stood over at the counter, leaning against Willow, her arms wrapped tightly against herself. She had just gotten used to Spike being around again, and now he was leaving permanently. With an abruptness unique to teenagers, she pulled away from Willow and headed towards the living room.

           

“Dawn,” Buffy called, going after her. She thought it only fair to give Rachel some time along with Spike, but she stopped next to her sister at the doorway, which was glowing a faint bluish color. “Giles? I think you’d better come see this.”

           

Giles appeared shortly, as did the rest of the gang, and they all stared at the brightly glowing blue light in the other room. The Watcher put out his hand to touch it, and found it harmless but quite impenetrable. “We’re not going to get in, Buffy,” he said as she put up a hand to push through.

           

In front of their amazed eyes, the figure of a woman appeared, and it seemed as though she was talking to Spike and Rachel, though they could not hear what she was saying. Then, she put her hands on both of them, and the light became an arc between the vampire and the girl, glowing so brightly that they had to shield their faces. When they opened their eyes again, the living room was empty except for Spike and Rachel, who both seemed to be unconscious. Buffy was the first to move, kneeling by Rachel’s side. “Rachel?”

           

The girl’s eyes opened immediately. “Spike? Is he breathing?”

           

Buffy thought she was delirious. “Honey, vampires don’t breathe,” she said gently, knowing that he wasn’t dead because he wasn’t dust. Ignoring her, Rachel scrambled up weakly and lurched to Spike’s side. With a quick motion, she flipped him over on his back and thumped him twice on the chest, hard. Buffy reached out to grasp her arm to restrain her, thinking she’d gone crazy for sure. But before the Slayer’s astonished eyes, Spike drew in a deep gasping breath of air.

           

The next few minutes were a tableau of stunned silence. It seemed the only one able to move was Spike, who was not only completely healed, but seemed to be completely insensible to the fact that he was alive and wasn’t supposed to be. His first priority was Rachel, who had lapsed back into unconsciousness after seeing and hearing him breathe. He frantically checked her pulse, relieved to find it steady and strong under his fingers. Xander’s strong hand gripped his shoulder, and Spike looked up in surprise. “Let’s get her upstairs, to Buffy’s bed.” Xander smiled a bit. “She’s a bit incoherent right now, but I don’t think she’ll mind.”

           

Spike looked at the others, and could see the questions forming in their minds. He knew that it wouldn’t be long before they all came out in a flood. “Later,” he said to the group in general. “I need to take care of Rachel first.”

           

He lifted her easily, unsure if it was because she weighed so little or if her mum had left him with a little more strength than was common to men in general. Moving up the stairs, he left the little group behind, Xander at his heels, and laid her in Buffy’s bed. Giles, who seemed to have regained most of his composure, followed after, and quickly checked her over. “She seems to be fine, Spike,” he said quietly. “She was exhausted before she did whatever she did to you, so I would imagine this is merely temporary until she regains her strength.”

           

Spike nodded. “I should stay with her,” he said, and was surprised once again to find Xander’s hand on his arm.

           

“I’ll sit with her,” the other man said quietly. “You should get something to eat before you fall over, and the others will have questions. She probably won’t wake up for a while anyway.”

           

Spike nodded reluctantly, and allowed Giles to take him by the arm and lead him out of the room. The next hour or so consisted of a series of rapid-fire questions, which Spike answered as best he could, and eating a couple peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. They weren’t his favorite, but Xander had been right. He’d been hungry enough to eat just about anything, except, perhaps, for blood. He was beginning to understand all over again why humans looked so disgusted at the thought.

           

Once the bigger questions had been answered, however, Spike made his escape upstairs to Rachel’s bedside. Part of him was afraid that whatever she’d done for him, the gift she’d given him, had damaged her forever. So he sat with her, wanting nothing more than for her to wake so that he could—thank her? Were thanks enough? What did one say to the person who not only saved your life, but gave it to you? With these questions in his mind, he finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning.

           

~~~~~ 

 

Buffy saw him stretched out along the side of the bed, one long-boned arm thrown across Rachel’s knees. It was strange as she watched him breathe, his chest moving up and down, a pink flush in his cheeks where none had been before. He would always be fair, she could tell, but he had the blush of life on his face now, where before he had been pale as death.

           

And he was young. With a shock, she realized that the being they had seen, Rachel’s mother, had returned him to the age he was when he was turned, probably no more than twenty-two or three. Biologically speaking, at least, he was her age, and that, too, was odd to think of, because he’d always struck her as being old, just as Angel had, the weight of years on them both.

           

He stirred and looked up at her, smiling, and for a moment he was both a friend and a stranger. She had known the vampire; did she know the man at all? Then he looked at the steaming mug in her hands and cocked one scarred eyebrow, and suddenly he was simply Spike again. “Please don’t tell me that’s blood, luv.”

           

“It’s not,” she said smiling. “Coffee, actually.” She handed it to him and watched as he breathed in the scent of it. “I thought you might need it.”

           

“Well, you were right about that. Didn’t sleep so well last night,” he admitted, and she realized that his eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles underneath.

           

Buffy looked at him and then asked suddenly, “Have you looked outside yet?”

           

Spike cocked his head to the side and gave her a puzzled smile. “No. Why?”

           

Without responding, Buffy went to her window and pulled the blinds, allowing sunlight to stream inside. No one had thought to take him outdoors yesterday while it was still light, but Buffy recognized that he had not yet experienced the full force of his humanity. He jumped back slightly, mostly out of habit, and then stepped closer to the window, allowing the light to fall over him fully. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You should go outside, maybe take a walk. It really is a beautiful day.”

           

Spike looked at her, the strangest look on his face, as though he was trying not to cry, and then he looked over at Rachel’s sleeping figure. Buffy gave him a little shove. “Go. I’ll sit with her. Just enjoy it. You didn’t get much of a chance yesterday.”

           

“Thanks, luv,” he replied, almost in a daze. “Suppose I will.”

 

~~~~~ 

 

He walked under the sun as a man for the first time in over a century, feeling as though he’d been set free. Spike had been a poet, once upon a time, and beauty called to him like a siren. For years, he had drunk in the beauty of the night, the silver of moonlight and the warm, rich scents of night-blooming flowers. Contented with that, he had scorned the day, convinced it had nothing better to offer him.

 

But now, smelling the freshly cut grass and the perfume of roses, feeling the gold of sunlight and seeing the patterns of light and shade, feeling unafraid that the next moment could be his last should the clouds move or the wind blow the trees; there was beauty here as well. He saw children playing in the park, shrieking as they ran, and he felt a sudden stab of joy, that he would not be the bogeyman in their nightmares on this night, nor any in the future.

 

Spike spent the day walking the streets of Sunnydale, through the parks, around near the high school and finally to his crypt. Looking around briefly, he began to throw things into his duffel:

clothes, books, a few odds and ends. Some of his favorite weapons. He gave it one more look and then left without a glance back. Dusk had fallen since he’d entered his former home, and he moved through the cemetery with the feeling of a man who was waking after a long sleep.

 

He sensed them before he saw them. They were fledglings, most likely, walking loudly enough to wake the dead under their feet, and there were four.  He felt a thrill of fear and a rush of adrenaline, and the stake was in his hand before he knew he’d grabbed it. With a shout of laughter, he realized that his limbs had forgotten none of their old magic, that all the knowledge and skill he’d gained in a century of living was still intact, and that he’d been left at least some fraction of his former strength.

 

It was over in moments, and he found himself grinning foolishly at the dust already dispersing on the wind. Slinging his duffel back over his shoulder, he went along his way, whistling a merry little tune.

 

~~~~~

 

Buffy heard the front door open, and knew who it was even before she heard his voice. “I’m in here, Spike,” she called from the kitchen.

 

“How’d you know it was me, pet?” he asked, more cheerful than she’d ever seen him before. Or at least more cheerful than she’d seen him since he’d gotten the chip in his head.

           

“I’d know those footsteps anywhere,” she replied, turning to greet him “How was your walk? You were gone a while.”

           

He shrugged slightly and leaned up against the island. “Got caught up in the day.” He smiled, and it was an odd smile for him, no trace of a smirk to it. “Haven’t felt like that in years.” He looked at her sharply, and the familiar Spike was back. “How’s Rachel?”

           

“Giles is driving her home. She woke up a couple hours ago, pretty much back to normal, though maybe a little weak. She was happy you were outside enjoying the sunshine.” Buffy studied him for a moment. “How does it feel, Spike? To be human, I mean.”

           

He ran a hand over and through his hair. “Doesn’t feel all that different really, except it’s like all the pieces of me fit now. Like I’m not fighting against myself anymore. Don’t know if that’s a lot of bollocks or not, but that’s what it seems like.” Spike smirked. “Though I will tell you it’s going to be a bit of bother to get used to some of this other stuff you humans take for granted. Eating all the time, needing to use the loo at a moment’s notice. Could have lived without that, I’ll tell you.”

           

“You humans, huh?” Buffy challenged slyly. “Shouldn’t it be us humans now?” She punched him playfully in the arm, and he looked at her with blue eyes that seemed to go on forever. She froze. Seeing her reaction to the look in his eyes, he backed off just slightly.

           

“Sorry, Buffy,” he said. “I thought—maybe—” He broke off midsentence just as the front door opened.

           

“Buffy?” Giles’ voice came floating through the house, and Spike turned to look at her, determination in his eyes.

           

“I’ll be right back, luv,” he said. “I need to talk to Giles about some things.”

           

When he left the room, Buffy leaned back against the counter, wondering if she was just being stupid. All she’d have to do was say the word, and he’d stick around forever. Her biggest excuse for not wanting him to stay was gone, very neatly done away with by Rachel’s waving of the magic wand.

 

But she was scared. She’d been in love before, and it hadn’t felt like this; and even though she trusted him with her life, there were still years of baggage between the two of them. Somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to say the words, and while half of her heart told her she was doing the right thing, the other half told her she was being a complete idiot. She listened to the first half, as she always had where it concerned Spike.

           

Buffy heard the front door open and close, and she found herself facing Giles. “He’s leaving, isn’t he?” she asked quietly.

           

Giles nodded. “He feels that it would be best if he left. I’ve encouraged him to talk to the Council. His knowledge will be invaluable to us, and it’s been quite a while since he’s been to England. I’m to call the Council tonight, and they should have the paperwork ready in a few days. We’ll both leave then.”

           

“Oh.” Buffy was far from happy, though there had been times when she thought she’d dance for joy when she heard Spike was leaving for good.

           

“Why don’t you come to England this summer?” Giles suggested. “It would do you good to get away from here, travel a bit. You haven’t been able to do much of that at all.”

           

She shook her head. “I’ve got duties here, responsibilities. I can’t just leave.”

           

He smiled. “Actually, I spent quite some time talking to Rachel about that. Apparently, the moving between dimensions and all that broke some kind of code. To balance things out, Rachel was allowed to place a seal on the Hellmouth. She admitted she didn’t know how long it would last, but seemed to think it might be as long as a generation, though that in itself is a vague description.” Giles reached over to touch her hand. “The point is, you won’t be tied here any longer, unless you choose to stay. Sunnydale will probably continue to have its problems, but no worse than any other town in this country.”

           

“You really mean it?” Buffy asked, incredulously.

           

“Yes. I should think both you and Dawn would have a marvelous time.”

           

Buffy considered for another second. “All right. England, here I come.”

           

Giles rolled his eyes, lips twitching a bit. “What have I done?”

 

~~~~~ 

 

Spike went to Rachel’s house, knowing that she had a bed for him and that he had little time to spend with her before he would have to leave. He let himself in with his key, and lay his duffel next to the couch. All was quiet, and there weren’t any lights on, so he figured Rachel was in bed already. Realizing he was a bit grimy, and that it had been entirely too long since his last shower, he grabbed a change of clothes and stepped into the bathroom. Having gotten himself cleaned up, Spike went to bed and slept both deeply and dreamlessly.

           

The next morning, he rose and dressed, suddenly anxious about seeing Rachel. He came out of his room reluctantly and made his way to the dining room. She stood at the stove in her old pajamas, fixing what looked to be eggs on the range. “There’s coffee in the pot if you’d like,” she offered.

           

“Thank you,” he said, and he wasn’t talking about the coffee.

           

She stiffened. “It was my choice, Spike,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to thank me.”

           

“It’s tradition when someone saves your life, duchess,” he replied.

           

“Well, we’re even now, then.” Her voice was almost harsh, and he laid a tentative hand on her shoulder.

           

“Rachel? Is everything all right?”

           

“Are you really happy, Spike? Is this what you wanted or was I just being selfish?”

           

Her questions stunned him. “First of all, luv, I don’t think you have a selfish bone in your body. And second, no, this wasn’t what I wanted because it wasn’t something I thought I’d ever have. But I don’t mind. ‘Sides, your mum left me with a bit of my old strength. It’s not like I’m a complete poof.”

           

That got a startled giggle, and she turned to hug him. “You couldn’t be a poof if you tried, Spike.”

           

“And you?” he asked. “You lost your gift, didn’t you?”

           

She smiled. “Yeah, or at least it’s a lot weaker. More like it was when it was first coming on. General feelings of knowing if I can trust someone or not, pretty much along the lines of a hunch. Mom left something for me, too. Can you feel it?”

           

Spike frowned, concentrating, and realized what she was talking about. The connection between the two of them was still intact, and just as strong as it had ever been. “Guess you’ll still be able to find me, duchess.”

           

“Guess so.” She turned back to check on the eggs she’d left in the pan. Spike decided to tell her before he lost all courage and ran out of time.

           

“I’m leaving,” he said.

           

“I know.” She went about the business of putting their breakfasts on plates.

           

“Going to London with Giles to see the bloody Council of Wankers. I’m not coming back to Sunnydale.” He knew she understood, but he could feel her disappointment.

           

“I know.” She put both plates on the table, not meeting his eyes.

           

“Duchess,” he said, catching her arm and turning her to face him in the tight space between the table and kitchen. “I’m sorry.”

           

“I know that too, Spike.” There were tears shining in her eyes, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall. “I never thought you would stay.”

           

He smiled at her, trying to make a joke of it. “Well, if you’re ever in London, look me up, luv. You’ll be welcome any time.”

           

“Well, if you’re ever in Sunnydale, same goes,” she said. They looked into each other’s eyes for what seemed like an eternity, and Spike saw a shadow falling over her. Before he could speak of it, she asked some question about his walk of the day before, and turned their minds to other matters. Like so many things about her, it only made sense years later.

 

# Epilogue

 

He’d made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t return, but broke it in favor of a promise made to another. He stood, a lean figure in a black greatcoat, the only one left over from the brief memorial service. He was tieless, but he didn’t think she would have minded. It had never been his style, and she had always been one to take him as is.

 

“No alteration necessary,” she’d been fond of saying. The small marble stone stood gleaming against the green expanse of lawn, and he knelt to trace the words with his finger. “Rachel Ellen Evans. Loved by many.” They had had three years together, three good years.

 

Spike had said good-bye to Sunnydale and its residents five years before. He’d shaken hands all around, given both Buffy and Willow chaste kisses on the cheek, and had handed the keys of his Desoto to Dawn, much to Buffy’s disgust. But for all his brave words, he’d been ready to chuck it all and come back to Sunnydale after only a year.

 

As much as he’d hated it, the town had become home, and Buffy was in his mind no less. He was just short of throwing in the towel when Rachel showed up at his door, a shy, hesitant smile on her face. She’d won a fellowship to study for her doctorate at Oxford and had come to visit. Spike never told her that he’d have been happy to see Harris, so homesick was he, but Rachel had been a most welcome surprise.

 

They’d spent most weekends together that next year as he did research for the Council and worked on his memoirs and she worked on her degree. It had been natural for her to offer to take his hand-written pages and type them up, for even though he was quite handy with a computer, his typing left much to be desired.

 

Besides work, though, they explored London and the surrounding areas together, ate picnic lunches, and once in a while went on a vamp hunt, “just to keep their hands in,” as he liked to say. It was about a year later that they had gone out to one of his favorite pubs with a few of his friends to watch the World Cup match. They’d had a great time and a little too much to drink. Which was why when he leaned down to give her a goodnight kiss, it turned into a bit more than that. And it also explained why he’d woken up the next morning with her lying beside him, sleeping. The night itself had been sweet, the sex good, maybe even better than good. The connection between them had hummed with energy, and the results had been rather pleasant.

           

It was in that moment that Spike realized that love was not always the same from person to person. His love for Buffy was very real, and always would be, but he could love Rachel at the same time. Even if it wasn’t in the same way, it didn’t mean that he loved one better than the other, just that they were different people.

 

Plus, Rachel was there beside him, and Buffy was three thousand miles away, and had made no mention of missing him in the two years he’d been gone. Knowing this, understanding that he could love one woman very differently than he had another, had freed him to enjoy what he had in the moment, without too many regrets.

           

They’d had those three years together, exploring one another as friends and lovers. Rachel had always been easy to be with, and he had always enjoyed her company. Her presence had allowed him to be content in a place that was not Sunnydale, and at the end of those three years, he was thinking of Buffy only once or twice a week, instead of every five minutes.

           

The day he’d found her, he’d been notified that he was to receive his own potential Slayer the next time one was identified, which would be soon, if the signs were right. It was something he’d hoped for, and he had rushed home to tell her. At first, he’d assumed she was asleep in the armchair that sat underneath the window. It wasn’t unusual for her to take a nap there, but she hadn’t been breathing, and there were no marks on her body.

           

Spike glanced at the note he held in his hand. He’d found it after they’d taken the body away, along with all the arrangements and directions she’d made for herself, from cremation orders to what poetry was to be read at the memorial service. Staring at the white marble, engraved with her name, it hit him that she really was dead. A burst of wind came up suddenly, and the paper he held flew from limp fingers, but he paid it no notice as he wept. All that was left of her was this stone, and the urn full of her ashes, and his own beating heart.

 

~~~~~ 

 

Buffy stooped to pick up the slip of paper that had gotten itself caught in the tree root. She began to fold it up when she saw the greeting and signature, but her eye was caught by the kneeling figure by the new headstone. He was bent double, head on his knees, shoulders shaking. They had been worried when he didn’t show up again after the end of the memorial service, and Buffy had offered to go after him. She remembered her own silent vigil by her mother’s grave until Angel had come to comfort her. Spike would need the same kind of friend.

           

She had seen the pain in his eyes as he came out of the gate at Sunnydale airport, Giles behind him and to one side. She wasn’t sure she would have recognized him as quickly if the Watcher had not had his hand on one of Spike’s shoulders. He’d let his hair grow out slightly, so that dark roots showed and it curled at the ends. He was dressing more formally, as well, in black pants and a blue button-down shirt. But he’d been wearing the same black Docs and the black greatcoat he wore was not so terribly different than the duster that still hung in her own closet. His eyes had been the same though, that deep, endless blue, and he’d seen her immediately. And in that instant of recognition she could see that he still loved her, but pain had shuttered that look, and later Buffy would wonder if she’d only imagined it.

           

She longed to know him, to understand him, this stranger that was as familiar to her as her own face. Once she had known every expression, every line of his face, every plane of his body, but five years had aged them, and changed them. He looked older now, and there were lines around his eyes and mouth that she had never seen before. The letter in her hand held a clue, a key to unlocking the mystery and the complexity that was Spike, and Buffy couldn’t resist reading it.

 

_To my dear Protector,_

_By now you must have realized that there were things the powers told me that night that I never shared with you. They were rather specific about the fact that I didn’t have much longer to live, whatever path I chose. So I knew when I chose to become fully human that I wouldn’t have much time. Please don’t be too angry with me. I didn’t tell you at first because I didn’t want to burden you with the knowledge, and because I was afraid you would pull away from me._

_Silly, I know, because I knew you wouldn’t, but I was still scared. Then, later, after we were together, I didn’t want any shadow to fall across what time we had together. Perhaps it was selfish, but I never thought you would love me, and when you did, I wanted to hold onto it with both hands and run._

_In the end, I wouldn’t change one thing about our time. I have no regrets about the choice I made. I knew that you were in love with Buffy, and that your heart would never belong to me, so I was happy with what you were able to give me. I know you still long for her, and I can only hope that someday you might find the happiness I have had. My time is growing short; I will not see you again. Know that I love you, and that you are worthy of that. You were worthy of my gift then, you are worthy of my sacrifice now. Be well and be happy. Yours always,_

_Duchess_

 

           

Buffy carefully folded up the letter, and looked out towards the now-still figure of the man Rachel had known so well. She loved him, of course. She’d loved him for a long time now, but had been too afraid to say it.

 

She feared being hurt, and what her friends would say, and that since it wasn’t the same as it had been with Angel, it wasn’t right and it wasn’t as good. Spike, it seemed, had learned his lesson faster, that love wasn’t the same, time and again. She knew, now, that her love for this man was just as deep, just as wonderful, as her first love for Angel had been, but it was different. Five years and three thousand miles seemed to have a way of putting things into perspective.

           

As Rachel had said, she wanted to hold onto this love of hers with both hands and run, and damn the consequences. But it wouldn’t be tonight. No, tonight she would take him home and get him drunk, letting him spill all his pain out between them. She would help to bear this burden as only a friend could. Tomorrow would be another day, and she could offer her comfort then, and in time they would see each other as they were. As Rachel had seen them.

           

Buffy tucked the note into her pocket and squared her shoulders. And walked out to meet her future.      


End file.
